by Liz Delton
Without a word, he rose and joined the others. Harry had returned from his solitary contemplation, the same gruff look on his face as usual. No one talked except in muttered phrases with little emotion. Maybe the rest felt just as guilty as Ven.
They began the trek back to the city, and the first thing they noticed was the smell. Burnt rock and the smell of molten glass assailed their noses; the acrid scent so overwhelming that they all had to bring their shirtfronts to their noses so they could breathe. It brought memories of their escape from Riftcity surging to Ven’s mind. Lightcity hadn’t been as lucky as the city on the rift.
Someone suggested that they all stay together to search. Emotionless agreement all around. No one wanted to lose anyone else.
They headed for the southern part of the city, the edge of which seemed to have been spared from the utter destruction that had annihilated the rest of the city. There could still be survivors.
Ven wondered how long it would be until any of Greyling’s men came looking, with the Scouts’ promised delivery of orbs going unaccounted for. Surely they had some time before Greyling sent anyone. A wild laugh tried to escape his chest at the thought of what Greyling would think of Lightcity’s destruction. He snorted into his shirt. Maybe the Governor would think they did it on purpose. Ven turned his attention back to surveying the rubble they approached, and all remnants of bitter laughter died on his lips.
He scanned the area for buildings that looked intact, ones that could have protected the people inside from the scorching heat and suffocating smoke. The survivors would most likely be wounded; and then they would need to feed anyone they managed to recover.
Except that they had no supplies to speak of. Only Jet had taken his pack with him for last night’s mission; but a handful of rations and one water canister split between nine people was laughable. They were already out of water, and if they found any survivors… Well, they would just have to gather what they could and get back to Meadowcity as quick as they could.
As they drew close to the wreckage that was once a beautiful stone and glass bricked wall, Ven decided he wouldn’t be the one to suggest their next course of action. He wouldn’t trust any decision he made. He knew he was not meant to be a leader anymore. There had been a pretty clear sign he wasn’t fit to be in command.
There was no getting around the smell anymore. Ven gave up and dropped his shirtfront, and he wrinkled his nose, trying to get used to the overwhelming stench of burnt glass and stone.
Where it was safe to explore, they covered as much ground as they could, actually locating a few people, most of whom had already managed to extract themselves from the rubble. They operated under a haze of exhaustion; after a night spent hastily trying to complete their mission, none of them had gotten any sleep since the night before.
Ven was sweating now, and the earth gave off waves of heat from the fires, not all of which were extinguished. He paired up with Rolfe, and they lifted collapsed beams or leveraged stones out of the way so they could move further into the rubble and search for more survivors.
They didn’t speak much, except to make suggestions on how to move the rubble, or to point out something they hadn’t yet covered.
It wasn’t until sunset that Flint finally suggested that they stop. They hadn’t found anyone else for hours. Those they had found were back outside the melted wall away from the stench. Morgain and Andred were with them, trying to care for wounds with what they had managed to scour from some of the broken buildings—cloth, wood splints, and canisters for water.
Vivi had left over an hour ago to go find a stream nearby and fill all the canisters she could carry. There was no water to be found in the city, all of it had evaporated with the heat. They hadn’t found any food either, a fact that did not help their continued search efforts, as they became even more fatigued, hungry, and increasingly discouraged.
Ven was busy shifting beams away from the door of a burnt villa; his heart hoping against hope that there could be survivors inside, when he heard footsteps in the ashen gravel behind him.
“Ven,” Flint called.
He dug his shoulder under the next beam and used his legs to lift it, then he slammed it to the ground away from the villa, clearing the way a little further.
“ Ven.”
He sighed and eyed the next beam.
“We’re done, mate.”
Flint approached through the ashen street. “We can’t stay here, and you know it. We haven’t found anyone for hours,” Flint added in a more gentle tone, as if that would soothe him.
Ven turned away, but a sudden smack on his arm made him turn around.
“What is your problem?” Flint demanded, changing tack.
“What’s my problem?” Ven raged; and suddenly the self-accusations that had been rolling about in his head rushed out like a flood.
“We just got everyone in Lightcity killed! Everyone! We’ve found, what? Twenty people? I convinced Gero to let us come here! We could have waited for Sylvia, but I had to come here, because I thought she was in trouble! And then we convinced ourselves we knew what we were doing, and now all these people…” he trailed off, finally losing steam.
Ven expected an accusatory look, or maybe he hoped for pity—what he didn’t expect was a fist sailing straight for his face.
He ducked, but Flint came back at him, jabbing him in the side with his knuckles and knocking him to the ground by kicking his knees.
“You think this is your fault?” the Riftcity boy bellowed, towering over him. “You think we weren’t all in this together—Do you think taking the blame will help? You think it’s going to make Morgain or Vivi or Andred any happier that we destroyed their city, that they were a part of it?”
Ven’s hands clenched the ashen grit on the street and he sat up, staring at his knees.
“Look; what happened, happened,” Flint continued. “There’s nothing we can do about it now, and sulking about it won’t do us or those survivors any good,” he jabbed his thumb back outside the city. “If you want someone to blame, blame Greyling. We might have been moving the orbs, but we’d never even be here if it wasn’t for him and his war. He put them here. He made us fight.”
Flint stuck out his hand, and Ven brushed the soot off his palms before letting Flint help him up.
“Now, come help me make camp with the others. Morgain and Andred will have had enough time to explain to the survivors what happened. I thought they’d be the best ones to break the news.”
They trudged out of the city, where the earth still smoked in some places. Ven looked up at the rising moon and wished he could be anywhere else.
Thirty Six
Each morning Sylvia checked the door, and each morning it still wouldn’t open. They now brought her plenty of food before she woke, so she had enough to last the entire day. No one visited.
Often she fell into melancholy when Lightcity crept into her thoughts. Meadowcity followed close behind.
Each day she sat down with the fabric, willing her mind to access the strands. Nearly each hour she threw the thing down in frustration. If she had to wear it, it would probably need a wash. She laughed out loud as she had that thought, and picked up the dress to lay it across the bench and take a break.
It was her final day before the Trial, and she had yet to make any significant progress. A few times she had managed to make something appear on the fabric, but it had faded quickly. She knew the task would be a little more complicated than that.
The other initiates would no doubt be much more adept than some Rider from Meadowcity, who had only learned about datastrands and earlinks a few weeks ago. Even Atlan knew how to transform the datawoven fabric already. She had seen his vest the other day in the woods.
She sunk down onto her soft bed and stared up at the ceiling. She thought back to when Medina had shown her how the fabric worked, and wondered if the woman would come to dress her before the Trial tomorrow.
Medina had simply looked at the fabric i
ntently, drawn a few designs on her own datastrands to give the command, and a complete design had appeared. Even having conquered making the connection from her earlink to the fabric, Sylvia was still struggling.
The Trial was tomorrow. She couldn’t stop picturing the massive crowds that had gathered for the two previous Trials. What would she do if she couldn’t compete?
She would fail. Lady Naomi wouldn’t give her any help for Meadowcity.
Sylvia had a feeling that the Lady was the kind of person who stuck to her word, and didn’t give second chances.
She sat up. She had better get back to work. She forced herself to return her mind back to the strands.
Her looking-glass darkened as the sun fell. She started to imagine the strain was giving her a headache, but then realized she hadn’t eaten or had anything to drink in hours. She poured herself a glass of water and looked down at the dress, now hung over a chair.
After focusing on a small corner for the past hour, she had managed to turn the color a little, and it appeared to be staying, even without her constant focus. But the corner of the dress just looked discolored, not creative. She frowned.
She ate without paying any attention to what she put in her mouth, all the while staring at the now-hated dress. She cleaned up in the washroom, and on her way past the fireplace spotted the glass bead her sister had given her, what felt like ages ago. She swiped it off the mantle, tied the bead around her neck and went back to work.
The room was dim now, with her fire providing the only light, besides the eerie glow that came from the light in the washroom. She dragged the dress over to the fire and sat. She had to resist the urge to burn the stupid thing.
Mere hours away, without any real progress, Sylvia’s stomach began to writhe in worry. Far from tired, her mind was moving quickly, imagining all of the horrible things that would happen if she didn’t learn how to do this right now.
She took a deep breath and shook her head to clear it. Worrying wasn’t going to get her anywhere. She needed to try something different.
The connection between her earlink and the strands was still active. She was so good at connecting now, she had been holding it for hours. She now knew how the others in Seascape had become so adept at the technology; constant use—and desperate need—were excellent teachers.
The fabric shimmered, and the silver strands taunted her in the firelight. She reached out and pulled the skirt toward her, smoothing it over a knee. Her eyes bored into the fabric, and she tried to picture a blue circle blossoming out of the silvery black threads. She stared at one spot, at the individual threads, focusing. Blue, she thought, focusing all of her will.
After several moments, she blinked, and with a groan, let her eyes focus somewhere else to give them a rest. After a second, she went back to the same spot. Tentatively, she lifted a finger and let it hover over the same threads. Before she touched it, she closed her eyes and felt for the connection between her earlink and the strands. She pictured all of the strands laid out over her knee glowing silver, energy running through them, criss-crossing one another. She put her finger down and sent thoughts of bright blue running through the threads under her finger with all of her will. Blue. Please, be blue.
Very slowly she lifted her finger and opened her eyes.
It was as if paint had spotted the dress. She gasped. Her only thought was—could she do more?
She put her finger back on the spot of blue and tried to pull the same feeling as she dragged her finger in a line. She stopped breathing as the blue flew from her fingertip. She had finally figured out how to transform the datastrands.
She was so elated, she couldn’t stop. She traced her finger all over the dress in lines and circles and swirls until it was covered in blue designs. It looked like a child had gotten a hold of some blue paint and her mother’s gown, but it was a thing of miracles to Sylvia. She couldn’t believe what she had done. Every new thing she learned in this place surpassed the last.
Other colors came next, which were easy now that she had learned how to manipulate the strands. Her eyelids grew heavy, but she didn’t care. She had learned how to make something beautiful with her mind.
Soon she was faced with a different problem: the dress no longer held any un-colored surfaces. She stood and held the gown by its shoulders, admiring it in the dying firelight. Out of the corner of her eye she could see the sky beginning to lighten in her looking-glass. Morning was coming. The Trial was only a few hours away.
With a yawn, she draped the dress on her bedpost so she could still admire it as she hastily readied for bed.
She couldn’t believe she had done it—and without anyone’s help! She couldn’t wait to show Atlan; and she finally felt ready to face the third Trial.
At least I can see him tomorrow, she thought as she got into bed. At least I know they’ll let me out of my rooms.
Her eyes closed swiftly and all became dark.
* * *
She awoke to the sounds of someone moving about in her room, so she pushed herself up from the soft warmth of her cushions to see who it was.
Medina was bustling about in the wardrobe, and setting some clothes out on the bench.
“Morning,” the older woman greeted her with a grin.
“I’m so glad to see you,” Sylvia gushed, almost wanting to hug the woman. She hadn’t seen anyone in a week.
“Likewise,” Medina said, and handed Sylvia the stack of clothes.
After Sylvia got dressed, Medina had her sit at the table so she could do Sylvia’s hair. Sylvia looked up at the dress hanging from the bedpost and chuckled. It looked like someone had thrown paint all over it. But her heart swelled at the sight of it.
“Nice work, that,” Medina said as she tugged a few strands of hair this way and that.
“Thanks,” Sylvia said with a grin. She couldn’t believe she had done it.
A knock came at the door, and Sylvia knew Medina must have alerted Oliver with her earlink, he had come so quickly after her hair was finished. Sylvia lifted a hand to her ear and realized she had actually fallen asleep with her earlink in.
Oliver looked truly apologetic as he greeted her, and offered to escort her to the Trial. Sylvia was sad to say goodbye to Medina, but as she stepped out of her suite dressed in sleek leggings and a soft white sweater, she realized she would see the woman again soon. Lady Naomi had promised her tea after the third Trial.
Sylvia decided she was still mad at Oliver for letting them lock her in her room, and wouldn’t talk to him their whole way to the train platform. As they exited the castle, Sylvia accessed the map and tried to make note of their passage. They didn’t pass by any rooms of interest, and she wondered if Oliver went this particular way on purpose—so she wouldn’t find anything interesting. She was sure he knew she had the map. She felt a little guilty ignoring him.
Oliver’s blue eyes blinked at her with exaggerated sadness as they entered the train. She weakened.
“Fine,” she said. “But you had better have a good apology for locking me in my room,” she hissed. The train was filling with citizens, but nowhere near as many as she had expected. Perhaps they were early.
“I’m sorry,” Oliver pleaded as the train began to move. Sylvia was almost used to the motion of it now. She watched as the villas flew by in a fantastic blur.
“I had no choice,” he said gently. “And it worked, didn’t it?” His eyes glinted mischievously.
She rolled her eyes and smiled, but then she remembered the other reason she was upset.
“What about Lightcity?”
The grin slid off Oliver’s face.
“There wasn’t anything we could have done,” he said, staring out the window.
Sylvia huffed.
He lowered his voice so that she could barely hear him, “It seems like it was an accident.”
She didn’t ask any more. She had no choice but to concentrate on the Trial. She stared out the window and watched another smaller town pass by. She
could tell from the sun that they were headed to the north. She wondered if the town was the one Atlan had led her to.
The time in the train went by quickly, and it seemed they weren’t going far. After they passed over a river (Sylvia had stared down at the water below, hoping the bridge was strong enough to hold), the train began to slow, and finally stopped at a platform.
A beautiful and immense castle rose up before them.
It looked like three castles connected in one, with two towers flanking the center building. Sculpted cornices ran along under the flat roof and below each window, and massive gardens spread out in front of the edifice. It was the grandest thing Sylvia had ever set her eyes upon.
Oliver led the way off the train and onto a gravel path. Sylvia’s eyes fled from one thing to another, trying to get a good look at everything.
The gravel was aged white stone, just like the walls of the castle they approached. Not even the grandness of Castle Tenny, or anything she had seen so far in Seascape matched this place. It made her feel like she had been transported to a different island entirely. Her worries of the Trial temporarily fled from her thoughts.
They passed a pool of water with a stone carving of swan and a little boy in the center, from which water was spurting out of. After that, they passed through a low stone wall and into a garden that lay at the base of two symmetrically angled staircases, which led up to a wide second floor veranda.
Another pool of water centered the garden, this one featuring a woman in the center. On four points of the circular pool, a set of strange serpents faced inward at the woman. Oliver had to tug on Sylvia’s sleeve when she stopped to study them.
They didn’t go up either staircase, though. Instead, Oliver led her through one of the three columned doorways that stood open between the base of the stairs.
There were others heading into the castle as well—she spotted Lena and Talia and gave them a little wave—but there was no sign of a huge crowd like the other Trials had drawn. Perhaps she wouldn’t have an audience this time. This Trial felt like it was going to be very different than the first two.
