by Daryl Banner
“Here,” murmurs Athan, pulling Wick up the narrow stair and knowing precisely where he wants to put him.
The door to Wick’s bedroom opens, and once the boys are in the cramped makeshift room, it shuts behind them. Wick lowers himself to the dusty mattress, giving it a pat and sending clouds of sneezes into the air. Wick pries open the window his dad built into the wall, letting the dust and the stagnant air draw out of it and into the whimsical night.
Athan snuggles up against Wick’s back, pulling him into his body and squeezing him tight. The Lifted Boy burrows his face into the back of Wick’s neck. The tip of his button nose is cold, almost feeling wet.
“I’ve missed you,” Athan moans.
Wick hugs his arms, loving the warm, helpless feeling of being trapped within Athan’s tight, muscular embrace. It’s the safest place in all of the Last City of Atlas to be.
“Now that we’re here,” murmurs Athan into his neck, “I think I am feeling the same as you.”
Wick listens to the sound sneaking in through the window of his neighbors talking and the kids chasing each other in the streets, laughing. “Same as me?”
“I just want to stay right here. I want to stay right here with you in my arms and … I don’t want to fight any war. This place, this room … This is my home now.”
“This is your home,” Wick agrees, wondering how much depth lives in those very words Athan just uttered.
The murmur of voices—Lionis and Prat—passes by his door as the two boys sound as if they’re relocating to Link’s room. He hears the hum of Lionis’s voice and the bass of Prat’s responses, though no words are particularly distinguishable. For a moment, it feels like Wick is back home with his family. He could almost mistake Prat’s voice for Halves or Aleks. He could even be Link with a stuffy nose. When the voices pass by his door again, there’s a soft knock before Lionis asks, “Need the shower, you two?”
Athan lifts his head. “We’ll go after you,” he calls back for the both of them.
The door to the bathroom shuts, vibrating the makeshift wall, and then the sound of a shower running is heard. Athan buries his face back into Wick’s neck, and Wick lets his eyes shut, enjoying the safety of his Lifted Boy’s arms. “I think the others will take kindly to the idea,” Wick whispers. “Prat is visibly shaken to the core by what happened in the sixth—whatever happened. Arrow is walking about like the world’s already ended. Lionis needs focus. That new girl Ivy has no family anymore. It’s so clear to me that this is the answer we all need.” Wick smiles to himself. “We need to live here.”
“I couldn’t agree more,” says Athan into Wick’s ear.
Wick lifts his eyes to the window, able to see some neighbors gathered on their porches, chatting and laughing and sharing drinks and milling about. Wick realizes with a start that most of these people probably had jobs before the Fall of Sanctum. So much order has been broken. Businesses have likely collapsed. There is no system in place for people to continue paying for their homes. There is no power governing whether the children or the teens are attending school. There is no obligation—or a necessity at all—for anyone to go to work. Wick wonders how long such a curiously laidback society can possibly last. The food is not infinite, surely, unless they have made some sort of peaceful arrangement with the Greens. And what power or authority is keeping this delicate balance from being tipped by a jealous, greedy, or resentful ward or band of rogues? Is it foolish to think that this neighborhood is truly a peaceful, isolated utopia that even the madness cannot touch?
It all sounds like a dream. And it’s a dream Wick is more than happy to believe in. As long as I don’t have to ever wake up from it.
0184 Kid
She sticks to Link’s side, the weird girl being glued to his other.
They finally make it out of the darkness and are soon walking down the more familiar stone walkways that have frequent lanterns along the walls. Following the torch and the silhouettes of Ames and the man named Baal in the dark was exhausting, even invisibly; this is so much easier.
The girl called Faery walks with Link’s hand in her own. Twice, she seems to glance in Kid’s direction, and both times Kid gives an honest thought of whether the strange girl can see her. Kid isn’t sure she trusts the girl any more than she trusts Baal, the creepy man who can twist time. Anyone who can twist time must have twisted insides, too. That includes a twisted mind and a twisted heart.
Kid has seen a hundred people lie about who they are and what they truly want. She’s seen men wear masks and pretend to be full of courage when they’re simply full of hate. She’s known cold boys and hotheaded ones. I know a liar when I see one, she reminds herself, and perhaps this girl is just another. Maybe she isn’t lost at all.
Kid keeps wary. She will never let her guard down again. I am ready, she says, steeling herself for the worst.
“Which way?” asks Ames, lifting his torch that he no longer needs, making the bumpy white-and-red scars on his face glow.
“This way, I think,” mutters Link, directing them.
Oh, yes. They are headed to the Dark Abandon. Kid nearly forgot, having tried several times to push it out of her mind. Kid needs to explain to Link—and soon—why she cannot go with them. She needs to tell Link how a ghost train nearly flattened her on an abandoned rail in that Dark Abandon, a ghost train that had no business being there at all—if it weren’t for the boy who stopped that train with one bare hand.
That’s the place where I became a ghost, and ghosts cannot die.
Just like Link. If only Kid could get him away from the others and speak to him without anyone hearing … but they are all so annoyingly close together all the time that it is impossible.
“Up here?” questions Ames with a jerk of his head. “Isn’t that right, Link? Is the way still the same ten years ago?”
“How would I know?” protests Link with half a chuckle. “I don’t know these paths as well. We turned around in ten circles looking for the way to the Abandon in our time. I wouldn’t know the damn way if I had a map.”
“Don’t you recognize this?” Ames points up at the ceiling. All eyes follow, spotting a fissure across the roof that cuts down a pillar in the center of an intersection of canals. “Didn’t Gilla make a joke about the ward above us falling in? I think this is the way.”
“Who’s Gilla??”
Ames’ face tightens at the question. He takes two steps toward Link, getting right in his face. “The first boy who turned to dust because of your lie to Baron. That’s who. One of my friends. Gilla Dane of the eighth. Remember his name? He had a mark above his eyebrow from a fight he got into at school and he used to wash clothes in the basins with you back at The Brae.”
Link’s face still seems confused, which only exasperates Ames worse. But before he can say anything more, Baal steps between the boys. “It matters not. We mourn the loss of your friend Gilla, truly, but remember that it is my greedy brother who is at fault.”
“You didn’t even remember his name,” growls Ames at Link, whose eyes seem wet with resentment.
“We have a goal, boys. A common one. And it matters not the death of one, or the deaths of two, or twenty, or even a hundred. We have the lives of tens of thousands upon our backs,” says Baal, his voice firm and echoing down the halls. “Those people above us … they depend on our work to save Atlas, remember?”
“Save … Atlas?”
The two boys and the man glance at the girl who spoke, Faery. Her eyes are big and full of wonder all the time. Why are her eyes like that? She acts like these are the first people she’s ever interacted with. Did her slumborn mother keep her in a closet half her life?
“Yes,” mutters Baal softly. “That is our work, Faery. We are on a hunt for …” He sucks in his lips with thought, then lifts his eyebrows lightly. “Poor choice of words. We are desperately … urgently seeking a woman who has gone missing. This woman is the key to saving all of Atlas. Without her, the world will burn.”
> Link turns to Baal, his eyes flashing with confusion. “Burn …?”
“I told you before. Maybe you were not comprehending the severity of our mission and why it is of the utmost importance that this missing Goddess be found. I have not shown you the future, but I don’t think it is something you need to see. The world ends in fire. Well, five kings and fire. But it is the woman … the Goddess,” Baal continues with soft, searching eyes that flick back over to Faery, “who is the key to saving the world from that horrible fate.”
Faery lets go of Link’s hand, taking one step forward. “Why the woman?”
Baal’s eyes shift between the two of them, and then he answers, “Well, it’s quite simple. There is a missing Goddess today. She will be found soon by the wrong people. Those wrong people will then use her to start a very delicate chain of events—all of which I’ve studied—that lead to her complete absence in the future.”
“Her … complete absence?” echoes Faery. “Does she … die?”
“Yes,” he answers bluntly. The hall echoes with that word, Kid growing cold by it. “And without her: the five kings, and fire. Kings. Fire. Doom. The end.” His ghostly stare drifts over the boys, as if to ensure that the depth of his words is received.
“I don’t want the city to burn,” she murmurs.
“Faery …” warns Link quietly, seeming to sense something off. Kid senses it too, her body tensed at once.
“It would be most unpleasant,” agrees Baal, his eyes scanning the girl from head to shoulder to toe. Then his needle eyes meet hers, squinting with distaste.
Even Ames is alarmed, his little beady eyes flicking anxiously back and forth between Link and the man as the girl draws up to Baal, peering up at him with her compassionate eyes.
“I knew it was you …” whispers the man kindly.
“Who?” asks the girl, confused.
Baal’s kindness doesn’t touch Link, whose eyes widen in horror. “He’s going to steal her away,” he whispers under his breath.
“Stop him!” hisses Ames.
Faery seems to hear them perfectly, because the gentleness of her eyes is fast replaced with fear, and in that same moment, Baal makes a mad lunge for her—but she’s too quick, leaping back with inhuman speed and a creature-like hiss of protest when she slams into the stone wall.
All it will take is one single touch of Baal’s finger on the girl, and the two of them will rip through time, gone from them forever.
This much, Kid knows.
When Link makes an awkward effort to shield Faery, Baal shoves him aside with ease, causing Link to lose his footing and fall into the water with a shout. Unhindered, Baal makes another grab at the girl, but Ames charges between them this time, desperate to keep the man away from her.
The knife zips through the air in one instant, burying itself into Baal’s chest.
He staggers backward, uncomprehending. The man looks up with bewildered eyes, sputtering … and he sees Kid for the first time.
“You …” he whispers.
Ames turns, his eyes flashing as if he’d forgotten that Kid was with them all along. Link is clinging to the edge of the sidewalk, interrupted in his effort to climb out, his mouth agape.
Baal hisses as the red bleeds down his front, just like it did his brother Baron. He clutches the handle of Kid’s knife, the weapon that’s now become a part of him.
“You …” he says again, his eyes never having left Kid’s since the moment he saw her. “It’s … It’s always been … you …”
Clumsily, he reaches one last time for Faery, one last desperate effort, but Ames and the wide-eyed girl back away. Baal drops to his knees, gasping and retching, his hands beginning to tremble.
“Me?” whispers Kid, alarmed.
“The one I can’t see,” he hisses. “She’s the one … the one who … who …”
And then Baal begins to giggle at some dark, private joke, going hysterical as a madman. Kid’s knife wiggling in his chest causes his little laughs to come out in bursts of sickly, strangled noises.
“The joke … I’d said it all along … a person I could not see would be my end. I was warned, and yet … yet, I …” Baal’s eyes flit to the boys, first Ames, then Link. “Oh, but the sickest joke yet is on you two … oh, you’ll never know where I took him … my brother … or when. I moved him, you fools. I transported him in time, and you’ll never … ever … ever … ever …”
Ever, ever, ever … The sputtering man falls face-first to the floor. The very last breath he’ll ever draw escapes his lips. Then, only the sound of rushing water fills Kid’s ears.
Cintha’s Weapon
All fields of study have been suspended until further notice. The teams of scientists are busy putting things into boxes and leaving in pairs. Some, Cintha noticed, have not returned.
“What does this mean?” murmurs Aryl.
Cintha has no answer for her. Ever since three hours ago when they saw Ruena’s coronation go all wrong on the broadcast, chaos has broken out in the facility. The patients, of which there are only eight in this wing, are confined to the lounge where the broadcast now only shows a reflection of their own alarmed faces in its blank, unpowered screen.
She puts a hand on Aryl’s shoulder, trying to soothe her. “Pay it no mind,” she murmurs. “There was a … a situation with Ruena and the coronation, and once they get it all sorted out, the Queen will come onto the broadcast and address us. Don’t worry a moment about it, sweet thing.”
“That was no situation,” says Aryl. “That was a disruption. That was an attack. The Queen was attacked.”
This, I know. Cintha lets go of the girl and moves to the locked double doors of the lounge, which each bear only one small circular window. Through one of them, Cintha watches the commotion of hurried bodies, men and women hauling boxes full of things, and doors flinging open and shutting everywhere.
She catches the gaze of the woman with the red eyes passing by, who looks away quickly, carrying on with the business of lugging a crate full of colored vials down the hall and around the corner.
“I think I even saw it,” says Aryl, her voice light and shaky. “I saw red. I saw so much red … like the Crystal Court was on fire. Big bursts of red.”
Cintha turns from the circular window, deciding to help distract Aryl from the chaos. “Red? I still marvel at your Legacy. You can truly see temperatures? Even from a distance? Across a city?”
“Extreme temperatures. Red is warm. Blue is cold. I saw bright red when it happened. It had to be the Queen’s coronation I saw!”
“Bursts of red?” Cintha nods calmly, putting a thoughtful finger to her chin and deliberately taking her time to think. “That sounds like bolts of lightning to me. Not fire. Maybe the Queen is bravely fighting the attackers with her powerful Legacy.”
Aryl’s eyes shine with hope. “Do you think so?”
“It would certainly make sense. Isn’t Queen Ruena brave and wise for her age? The city is hers, now. She’ll protect it with her life. She’s sworn to do so, in fact.”
“But she hadn’t sworn yet. They didn’t make it that far into the ceremony,” Aryl says, her shoulder sinking.
Cintha peers up, spotting the old man Kirin sitting in a chair in the far corner of the lounge reading a book. For a moment, she is distracted wondering what book he’s chosen to read and whether it is doing the trick of convincing him that everything is okay.
Cintha decides she needs to keep talking to her friend. When she isn’t talking, she starts to think too much and panic. “Tell me where you saw the big red flashes. Up here?” she asks, pointing at the ceiling where she’d imagine the Lifted City to be. “Or over here, maybe?” She turns a bit, pointing upwards at a different angle.
“No,” says Aryl flatly, pointing straight ahead at the wall.
Cintha follows her finger, perplexed. That’s odd …
Then the double doors crash open, and three men in masks are standing there. Cintha and Aryl pull away from
it, moving to the wall as the others in the room rise from their chairs expectantly.
“Patients one and two, follow us. The rest of you, please remain calm and quiet.”
Kirin remains neither calm nor quiet. “What the fuck happened? Why the commotion? Why the disturbance? We want answers!”
“Patients one and two,” repeats the masked men, though Cintha is uncertain which one of them is speaking, considering she can’t see their mouths.
With a start, she realizes that she’s patient two. A soft-eyed man with dimples and shoulder-length curly hair seems to be patient one, as he brushes off his beige pants, gives a tug to his beige shirt, then approaches the masked men.
Cintha gives a reassuring squeeze to Aryl’s shoulders. “I’ll be back soon, I’m sure. Or else we’ll reunite wherever they’re taking us. I’m sure it’s a precaution. You know, to keep us safe.”
Aryl nods, but her eyes are heavy with doubt.
Cintha does her best to ignore the doubt, as if to pretend that it doesn’t thrive in her own heart, as she follows suit with patient one and leaves with the masked men. They move as a unit, two men in front and one man behind Cintha and patient one. Down the hall and around the corner they go, bypassing the steady, foot-scuffling commotion of hurried doctors, scientists, and white-garbed officials.
In front of a door, they stop. “Step inside, please.”
Patient one does so first, pulling open the door. Cintha follows with a pinch of reluctance, her footsteps beginning to slow. Inside the room, she sees the red-eyed woman who was in charge of her Legacy-removal treatment. The room is small and windowless, as they all are, but in the middle of this one rests an exam table, upon which there are two sets of plain white robes. Two vials of water are set next to them.
