The Fifth City

by Liz Delton

  Sylvia followed Atlan back into Castle Tenny; feeling as if she was walking back into reality.

  Thirty Two

  Sylvia and Atlan walked back through the castle in a pleasant silence. Despite the walk, Sylvia’s body was becoming incredibly sore from her night spent climbing the cliffs. She could barely lift her arm to open the door to her rooms when they reached it.

  She looked up at Atlan to thank him for taking her outside, when suddenly his face was right in front of hers. A hot sensation shot up from her chest to her face, bringing warmth to her cheeks. Just as quickly, she felt his lips brush her hot cheek, and he drew back, a wide grin spreading across his face.

  “Thank you,” he said.

  She was rooted to the spot.

  He continued, unashamedly, “I really needed to get out of here for a while.”

  Sylvia’s hand was glued to the doorknob, and she was unable to speak.

  “Maybe we can do it again sometime,” he said and turned down the hallway, giving her a small smile in parting.

  “Sure,” she breathed, not even sure if she had said it loud enough.

  * * *

  The rest of her afternoon passed in a muddled daze of aching muscles and thoughts of her walk—and what had happened at the end of her walk—with Atlan.

  It wasn’t until after sunset that she remembered about the map he had given her. Once her looking-glass had darkened, and the view of the southern shore was silhouetted by the light of the rising moon, she had made up her mind. Tonight, she would try to explore the castle by using the map, while—she hoped—the castle was sleeping.

  The thought of Atlan still awoke an electric sensation deep in her chest, and she belatedly wondered if she liked him. The memory of their walk, and their time spent lounging in the forest made her smile, but then she narrowed her eyes at herself in the reflection in the looking-glass. She had to focus on the Trials. She had a job to do.

  Not to mention the guilty thoughts of Ven that rose up every so often. Ven, home in Meadowcity. Ven, distant since before she left. She had thought that perhaps at their parting he would say something—do something. She wasn’t even sure how he felt about her anymore.

  Then there was Atlan. Sly, clever Atlan. He had spent hours with her over the past week, helping her learn about Seascape and it’s strange technologies. And today…

  But she couldn’t forget the fact that he was Lady Naomi’s son, even if he liked to pretend that he wasn’t.

  She brushed the thoughts of Atlan and Ven aside as she adjusted her datawoven half-sleeve and sat down on the floor in front of the fire. She told herself that her feelings shouldn’t matter now, while the war was on. But if she got some happiness from this place—from Atlan—it couldn’t be a bad thing, could it?

  She shut her eyes, and in the familiar blackness, she reached out to create the two points of light that would allow the earlink and datastrands to connect.

  It took even less time than before. She grinned as she felt the sudden shift in her mind that she had grown accustomed to. Apparently having to connect on the cliffs last night had done wonders for her concentration. Doing it in the comfort of her rooms was a breeze.

  She took a steadying breath as she willed the connection to hold, and opened her eyes. Now it was time to find the map. She thought back to how she had accessed it in the forest with Atlan; how she had used her fingers on the sleeve to mimic turning a page. She took another deep breath and simultaneously flicked two fingers across her sleeve as she imagined the data revealing itself.

  There. Her heart beat fast as an image swam up in her mind’s eye, as if from a memory. Her eyebrows crinkled together as she realized what it was.

  A set of rooms—it had to be hers—shown from above. She could clearly identify the main room, with the washroom off of one corner, and the recessed nook that held her table. The image was blurry around the edges, but on the other side of where her door stood, she could see a partial view of the corridor.

  What struck her most were the words. Five words shown, imposed over the image of her room:

  Parkhurst Suite (Sylvia Thorne, Meadowcity)

  Sylvia lifted a hand to her heart as she studied the image more. She had never seen anything like it in her entire life. How could she be viewing an image like this? Her heart raced under her fingers.

  She took a long breath in through her nose, trying to calm herself down, not wanting to break the connection with the map or her earlink. She stood, already wondering what would happen when she moved into the corridor.

  As she approached the door, she kept the image in her mind, and, to her amazement, it moved with her. This was nothing like the map of the cliffs. This was some sort of living map.

  She put her hand on the doorknob and turned, peeking her head out into the corridor before going out.

  Now she could see the outline of the room across from hers, titled Seaview Suite (Vacant).

  She actually leapt in the air as she tried to decide which way to turn. This was the most amazing thing she had ever seen!

  Deciding to go to the left, she read the names of the different suites and rooms located on either side of the corridors that she walked down. She puzzled over how the map worked, labeled so clearly with words, and moving with her as she walked.

  Some rooms were things she understood, like meeting rooms or offices, but when she came across a room titled Observation, she paused.

  She glanced up and down the hallway, and, seeing no one, put her hand on the doorknob. With the slightest turn, she discovered that the door was unlocked.

  With the knob half turned, she debated whether there could be anyone inside this oddly named room. The other rooms in this corridor seemed to be work-related, and it was approaching midnight, so the chances seemed low for encountering anyone. She turned the knob.

  The door opened silently at her push and she edged it open to reveal a dimly lit room, about the size of her suite. Softly flickering light invited her in. Realizing it was indeed empty, she entered, eager to get out of the corridor and away from the chance of discovery.

  Two sturdy tables took up the center of the room, and the walls were lined with looking-glasses. A bright flash of light caught her eye, coming from one of the tables, and she realized that they were looking-glasses, too. She walked around to the far table, curious at what the bright light was. Its surface practically lit the room with its glow.

  She set her eyes on the image and sunk into the stool there.

  Her heart fell to her feet, and she looked away. The image wasn’t live, she could tell, because it kept repeating, over and over.

  She stole another glance at the looking-glass to see it again.

  The explosion.

  Lightcity. Destroyed.

  Over and over again she watched the city of light as multiple explosions enveloped and obliterated the city center, in what was clearly the result of Skycity’s bombs.

  Her mouth wide in horror, she forced herself to look away.

  She wiped her suddenly sweaty palms on her shirt, and dragged herself away from the looking-glass table, but her eyes remained glued to the destruction.

  Finally she glanced at the other table and was shocked to see a view of Meadowcity, surprised that she didn’t notice it on her way in. Was this live? She rushed around to look.

  Were they still alright, as the looking-glass showed?

  She gripped the edges of the table and leaned in, studying her home. She stared at the treewall and watched the far-off figure of one of the Defenders, walking around the parapet.

  She shot a guilty glance at the other looking-glass. Over and over, the lights flashed.

  Tears pricked in her eyes, contorting her face into a painful grimace as she let them roll down her cheeks. She sunk down to the floor as it hit her; with her back against the table leg, she covered her face in her hands. Lightcity was gone. All those people.

  She had only been there a few weeks ago. What luck had it been that the first
person she had run into was Neve—Neve, whose home was now destroyed. Had the girl made it to Meadowcity safely?

  A fresh round of tears ensued as she realized she hadn’t even thought of the girl in weeks. Their whole city, gone.

  What happened? Was Greyling retaliating against them for something? Did it have something to do with the Scouts’ unsuccessful trip to Seascape?

  She slammed her fists into the ground beside her, and stood, going back to table that showed Lightcity. She studied the flat image, now blurry through tears.

  At the bottom of the table, several numbers flashed continuously, but a few seemed stuck in the corner: 099.27-03. She fought to comprehend it. They were nothing like what Arcerans used to record the date, which was what she hoped the numbers would be. When did this even happen?

  She wiped her eyes and looked up and around the room, the first time she had really studied it since entering. Like windows to different worlds, three walls held an array of looking-glasses, all at head height. A shallow stone counter ran around the room, but it was completely bare.

  Various images of Arcera shone out at her, some lighting the dark room with their glow; others were black. She figured the dark images were live—like the looking-glass in her room—and the other daytime ones were set to repeat, like the one of Lightcity. They must be studying those.

  Sylvia glanced guiltily behind her. The bright light flashed repeatedly every few seconds. She edged toward the wall closest. Some images were immediately recognizable, and Sylvia’s eye was drawn to the looking-glass on the far left.

  It was a fast-moving view of Riftcity, and she pictured a bird-drone soaring between the cliffs to capture the image. She put her hand down on the counter as she felt a weird swooping in her stomach, so she looked away for a moment.

  The other looking-glasses showed views of the other cities mostly, and Sylvia finally understood what Observation meant. Seascape was observing all of Arcera. Watching.

  But not doing anything. Not a single thing to help the Four Cities, besides watch as they were destroyed, and give a small hope to one girl from Meadowcity—but even that help had to be earned.

  The tears had stopped flowing, and she wiped her cheeks with the backs of her hands. She took a deep, shaky breath and decided she was done exploring for the night.

  She spent a few more moments watching Meadowcity, having trouble tearing herself away from the image of her home, but she knew she should get back to her rooms. She felt sick.

  It wasn’t until she was back in her soft bed that she realized that all of the images were just of the Four Cities. None of Seascape.

  Next time she used the map, she would try and find that room.

  Thirty Three

  Ven fell to his knees. The pain that reverberated through his bones went unnoticed.

  They had scaled the wall and run as far as they could away from the fires and explosions, and finally stopped at a rise a safe distance away.

  A smoking crater was all that remained of the city of light. Hundreds of villas had been replaced with mountains of burning hot embers. Parts of the wall had been spared, but the sections that remained were now only mounds of melted glass and stone. The fires had sliced through the center of the city at the demand of the exploding orbs, which had been close enough to cause one long, disastrous chain reaction.

  Which was their fault.

  With one hand covering his mouth, Ven reached out the other idly, as if he could do anything to save the doomed city. Its fires burned as high as mountains where they had enough fuel. Harry and his niece had indeed crafted a formidable weapon.

  No one spoke for what seemed like an hour as they watched and waited to see if the fires would burn out.

  Ven fought between the urge to run down and start looking for survivors, and the impulse to head back to Meadowcity, where everything was alright, and he hadn’t just caused the destruction of an entire city, killed thousands of people.

  He let out a barbaric groan and dove for the ground, beating it with his fists.

  How could he have caused such a thing?

  They had only been trying to help—to take those things away from the Scouts, from Greyling. Why did those two Scouts have to interfere! He beat the ground again, and raised his fist for another strike, but someone grabbed his forearm.

  Flint held him back. The boy’s face was covered in soot; streaks of tears cut lines down his cheeks.

  He offered Ven a hand up. After a second’s consideration, Ven took it, though he was tempted to swat it away. He wiped his eyes with the back of his hand, and he took stock of their pathetically small group of survivors.

  Harry, Andred, Morgain and Vivi were what was left of the Lightcitizens; and then there was Ash, Arden, Thom, Rolfe and Jet. That was it.

  His heart crumpled in pain at the obvious absence of Dahlia and Tems. Tems had only joined up to help liberate his city—and Dahlia, Dahlia had a family at home…

  Ven’s muscles bulged with tension as he fought the urge to run home, to beat the ground again, to run screaming for the burning city.

  Everyone else was in a similar state of distress. Harry had turned his back on the group and walked away about ten paces; he was crouched down, head in his hands. Morgain sat on the ground weeping, and Andred held her around the shoulders and stroked her hair.

  The rest just stared at the burning city, their eyes holding oceans of misery and terror at what they had done.

  Thirty Four

  Sylvia slept uneasily, and upon waking immediately remembered why. Before she could wipe them away, tears rolled down her cheeks and onto her pillow as she thought of Lightcity, and the horrible explosions she had seen in the looking-glass.

  Her head began to ache, and her muscles were still sore from the other night on the cliffs, so she rolled over to get out of bed and stretch, wiping her eyes as she rose.

  Breakfast was laid out as usual, and she headed to the table to get some water. But as she rounded the corner of her bed, she saw that something had appeared while she was sleeping, something that made her mouth drop.

  Laid across the bench at the end of her bed was a long, flowing black gown. But it wasn’t normal fabric, it was the shimmering oddity of datawoven fabric. Poking out from under a sleeve was a piece of paper.

  She snatched the paper and unfolded it, idly stroking the strange and silky fabric as she read:

  It’s time you learned how to be creative. We’ll talk about the war after your third Trial, if you can show me what’s in your mind.

  -N

  Sylvia’s brow wrinkled in disgust, and she nearly threw the dress down to the floor. Lady Naomi must know she had seen what happened to Lightcity. How could Sylvia have been so oblivious? The Lady had spies everywhere, why not in her own castle, in her own observation room?

  The Rider stormed away from the dress and over to the sunlit looking-glass, but that only reminded her of the observation room, so she strode away, her breathing becoming fast.

  She went for the door, thinking maybe she would just go outside, out the way Atlan had shown her yesterday, now that she knew how to use the map. Some fresh air would clear her mind. She turned the handle.

  But it was locked.

  She slammed her open palm against the frame, and her head followed more gently. For the first time in the weeks she had lived in their castle, they had locked her in. Her breath clouded against the polished wood. Trapped.

  She turned and slid down the frame to sit with her knees pressed close to her chest. She hugged her bent legs and tried to think.

  Lady Naomi still expected her to compete in the Trials. What was the Lady’s game? Why was it that she was leaving notes and valuable datawoven fabric for her? Her mind raced with possible motives.

  Sylvia’s stomach flipped as she had a strange thought. Had the Lady meant for Sylvia to see what happened to Lightcity?

  But Atlan had been the one to give her the map, and Sylvia could tell that the Lady and her son were not close. At
lan, however, had gotten the map from Oliver…

  That had to be it, then. Was the Lady merely curious to see how Sylvia would react? And why had she given her the datawoven dress and told her to be creative?

  Then it hit her. The next Trial.

  Creativity. The Lady had hinted at it twice now.

  Sylvia pressed her hands against her head and shut her eyes. She only wished she had Atlan to help her.

  She only had a little more than four days to learn how to draw with her mind.

  Thirty Five

  For hours they sat on the rise, watching the city burn. Ven couldn’t tear his eyes away from the smoldering embers as the flames destroyed more than just buildings.

  The sun had fully risen, shining its damning light upon their failure, showing them precisely the damage they had caused.

  Ven sat with his knees up, arms loosely hugging them to his chest. He jumped at a nudge on his shoulder, which turned out to be Flint offering him some water. He shook his head. He didn’t want it. He didn’t want anything anymore.

  Flint shoved the canister into his hand and ordered, “Drink.” The look in his eyes was so venomous that Ven complied. After the first sip, he realized how thirsty he really was, and downed about half the container.

  “You about ready to go down there?” Flint muttered.

  Ven looked around and noticed that the others were standing and readying to go. His heart began to race. No. He wasn’t ready for that. There was nothing he wanted to do less.

  “Get up,” Flint commanded quietly.

  Ven swallowed the hateful words and surge of anger that bubbled up. This wasn’t Flint’s fault. All his.

  And he needed to face it and see if there were any survivors.