City of Light (The Traveler's Gate Trilogy)

by Wight, Will

  Oh, she went through all the right motions. When he slashed at her legs, she hopped back and countered with a thrust to his neck. As he knocked her blade aside, she stepped in close, popping him in the nose with a quick punch.

  Andra acted like she always did, but he knew her well enough to look beneath the surface. They had spent almost all their time together in the months since they had moved to Valinhall, as they had no one else to talk to. He knew her better than he ever had. Better than he wanted to, to tell the truth.

  The biggest change had come when she got those chains on her arms.

  As she punched him in the nose, he got a close-up look at the mark on the back of her hand. It looked like a black oval with squared-off corners, but he recognized it for what it was: the first link of a chain. All of the Valinhall Travelers had these chain-shaped marks, which began on their hands and wrapped up their arms like snakes twisting up a tree branch.

  That knowledge hurt even more than the punch, since Andra's chain was only one link. That meant she wasn't drawing any strength from the House, and yet she was still beating him with less than half her attention.

  Lycus' head snapped back and pain flashed through his skull, but he kept his sword up. He tried to focus through watery eyes, to see where her next attack would come from.

  Andra wasn't attacking. She stood with her sword to one side, looking at him in concern.

  “Are you alright?”

  “I'm fine,” Lycus tried to say, but it came out as though he were speaking through a heavy cold. He sniffed and wiped at his eyes, hoping that she wouldn't think he was crying. His eyes were watering because he'd been hit in the nose, that's all.

  Andra glanced around the garden, tapping the tip of her sword against her boot. “If your nose is broken, you can go dip in the bath. I'll wait.”

  Lycus shook his head furiously, keeping his sword up to show her he could still fight. “It's not.” He had broken his nose five times since coming to live in Valinhall, so he knew what it felt like. “Let's go.”

  Without another word, Andra brought her blade up and bent her knees, balancing on the balls of her feet, waiting for him to attack. The waiting was another sign that she wasn't taking him seriously. Andra always attacked, never started on the defensive, and she liked to make jokes while she fought. She made jokes most of the time, actually. If she was quiet, waiting for him to make the first move, that meant she was thinking about something else.

  Lycus stepped forward and poked at her defense with a weak thrust, trying to prod her into attacking.

  She parried gently, stepping to the left to force him to move, matching her.

  At least they were fighting now, but it burned in him that he couldn't make her focus. No one took him seriously, that was the problem. He was the youngest around here, and by far the weakest. Even the Nye treated Andra like an adult, coming at her from the shadows, attacking her in pairs, dragging her out of her bedcovers with an iron chain around her neck.

  When they attacked Lycus, they barely tried to kill him at all! Once, a Nye had even shaken him awake and allowed him to climb out of bed before whipping him with a chain. Lycus' mother believed that the Nye were an important and natural part of the House, testing its inhabitants to make sure that they were always alert, always ready for Valinhall's harsher tests.

  If so, why didn't they test him? He was ready! If he couldn't conquer the rooms deeper in the House, how was he ever going to defeat Simon?

  Lycus stepped once more to the side, but Andra didn't circle him. She stared at something over his shoulder, letting her sword fall again.

  “What is that?” she asked, in a tone normally reserved for cockroaches and squirming reptiles.

  They normally fought in the garden, but today Chaka had told them that their ‘clashing and clanging’ was getting on his nerves, and that they should take their ‘limp-wristed flailing’ somewhere else, before he taught them a lesson. So they had walked back through the House's main hallway and began sparring in the entry hall.

  If Andra had seen something in this room, that could only mean that someone was opening a Gate. Valinhall Gates could be opened from anywhere outside, but they always led here, to the House's entry hall.

  It was technically possible that Andra was baiting him, luring him into turning around so that she could attack him from behind. Lycus would actually have been relieved if that were the case, since it meant that she thought him dangerous enough to be worth tricking.

  He turned around, hoping his sister would stab him in the back.

  A Gate was indeed opening in the entry hall, but it didn't look...healthy. Normally, when a Valinhall Traveler opened a Gate, they sliced it from top to bottom, as though a curtain was being drawn back, revealing a different world on the other side. When they finished, the Gate would stabilize into a white-edged swirling doorway.

  This time, the Gate was beginning in the middle, roughly chest-high on Lycus, not head-high on an adult. The edges weren't white, but red and angry. And while the blade that poked through the air had an edge of freshly polished steel, it certainly was not one of the gently curving Dragon's Fang swords that Valinhall Travelers used.

  So if it wasn't one of the Dragon Army opening a Valinhall Gate, who was it?

  Lycus took a step back from the Gate, glancing over at his sister. As much as he hated to admit it, she was supposed to be a fully-fledged Valinhall Traveler now. Maybe she knew something he didn't.

  She glared at the hole in the world, fingers clenched around her Dragon's Fang. She looked dangerous now, in a way that she hadn't when she was fighting him. “Lycus, go warn someone. Something’s trying to come through.”

  “Warn who?” Lycus asked. Simon wasn't in the House at the moment, he was outside doing whatever he did. Probably killing more people. Lycus had trouble thinking of Simon now without picturing him bathed in the blood of Damascan soldiers, men who had been supposed to protect Lycus and take his family to safety. True, Simon had sent the Agnos family to Valinhall, but it was to save them from a mess that he had created.

  Besides Simon and Andra, Lycus only knew of three other Valinhall Travelers. Overlord Indirial only showed up when he was on business for his realm or for Queen Leah, and he never stayed long. Besides, he was an Overlord. Lycus wouldn’t have called to an Overlord for help if he were drowning; he would have been afraid of distracting them from something more important.

  Lycus didn’t know Denner, who entered the House every once in a while, stayed for a day or two, and left without warning. He seemed the most normal of the Travelers, and he even told Lycus stories during his stays in the House. But Lycus had no idea where to find him now.

  The other Traveler, Kai, was...odd. Lycus' mother had warned him never to talk to Master Kai without another adult present. He spent all his time talking to those little dolls, and Lycus got the impression that he would happily murder anyone who so much as mussed a single hair on a doll's head. Lycus was too scared to look in Kai's general direction most of the time. He had heard that Kai was staying deep in the House, deeper than Lycus had ever seen, but he didn't know why.

  So all the Travelers were out. He supposed he could warn Chaka, but Chaka was stuck in the garden. What could he do about a threat in the entry hall?

  “What about Erastes?” Andra suggested, keeping her gaze stuck on the growing red Gate. The blade slashed up, tearing a chunk out of the air, revealing a black-and-white tiled floor on the other side. And what looked like the body of an impossibly huge man in shining silver armor.

  The sword worked slowly but steadily, as though sawing through the world was a demanding physical chore.

  “Where is he?” Lycus asked.

  The torn Gate was growing at an alarming rate. Soon the armored giant would be able to step through.

  “Find him!” Andra snapped.

  Lycus stayed where he was.

  “Go!” His sister yelled. The Gate grew another two inches.

  “I need to help you!�
�� He couldn't leave his sister here, alone, to fight whatever was about to come through this Gate. What kind of brother would he be if he did that?

  She gave him the look, the lopsided half-smile with a twinkle in her eye that she always used when she saw a joke that nobody else realized was funny. “You're a hero, Lycus, you really are. But what are you gonna do that I can't?”

  A second dark link slid into being on her wrist, and a third was beginning to materialize. The chains of Valinhall were growing on Andra's arms, which meant she had called steel.

  Lycus wondered what they would do if Overlord Indirial stepped through and demanded to know why they were pointing swords at him. They would get in a lot of trouble. The Overlord might even arrest them; he’d heard that some Overlords did that to people who got in their way.

  That’s probably all it is, he reasoned. Overlord Indirial’s going to come through that door, and he’s going to yell at us for pointing swords at him. He had never actually heard Indirial shout at anyone, but he could imagine it easily enough.

  Then, with a screech like tearing metal, the Gate finished. It was two feet taller than a normal Gate, stretching from the entry hall's wooden ceiling all the way to its carpeted floor.

  The armored giant stepped through, and Lycus saw that it wasn't a man at all. It looked like a man—two arms, two legs, a torso, a sword in its right hand—and it was covered in intricate gleaming steel armor, but it had no face. Its helmet was open, revealing thousands and thousands of metal gears inside where a human would have eyes, a nose, a mouth. It was like looking inside a man-sized clock. As it stepped through the Gate, it whirred and clicked and clanked. There was no flesh inside that armor.

  Lycus felt like an idiot. Chaka reminded them every day of the first rule of Valinhall: it's always a threat.

  He swore he would never forget that again.

  “Stop where you are!” Andra called, and she sounded like she had the authority to make that demand. “Who are you?”

  The helmeted head creaked as it swiveled on an armored neck. Twisting bronze gears surveyed Andra instead of eyes.

  The metal giant spoke with a voice that sounded like grinding rocks. “I am Tartarus. I will not be stopped.”

  It marched forward, sounding with each step like a cupboard full of pots and pans crashing to the ground. The sword in its right fist had a blade as long as Lycus was tall, but it wasn't made of the same shining silver metal as its armor or Andra's Dragon's fang. The sword was solid, shining red, with twisting black lettering crawling up its flat surface. In the few moments of silence between the giant's footsteps, Lycus thought he heard the sword screaming.

  Andra must have heard the same thing, because she gave the sword a wary glance. “Lycus, run. You need to find Simon.”

  With a shout, she jumped forward and thrust the point of her lightly curved blade up and into the shoulder, between the breastplate and the upper arm.

  Sparks flew, and Andra stumbled back. Tartarus didn't slow down, walking implacably forward toward the hallway. Toward Lycus.

  He stood frozen for perhaps a second, stunned. The Dragon's Fangs could cut through anything. He had seen those Valinhall-forged swords slice through trees, cut chains, and stab through stone walls. What was this giant's armor made of?

  Then he realized that, if he didn't move from where he was, he was going to get an up-close look at the bottom of Tartarus' steel boot.

  Hating himself, Lycus turned and took off running down the hallway. He would warn Chaka, and hopefully find Erastes. They could help Andra, even if he couldn't.

  And maybe they would know where to find Simon.

  ***

  Simon slammed into the street on his hands and knees, Azura skittering away. His skeleton rang like a bell, his knees and wrists felt like they had exploded, and his vision had whited out from pain.

  But he clutched a single thought: he wasn’t dead.

  Rebekkah was laughing harder than he had ever heard her, or any of his dolls for that matter. She practically sobbed with laughter, and he was sure that if he could pull her out of his cloak, she would have a huge grin on her painted face.

  That was, by far, the greatest thing I have ever seen anyone do, she managed. Caela is going to be so mad she didn’t get to see it.

  Simon crawled a few feet away, nudging his aching body across the rough cobblestones. His stone and steel had held out—in fact, thanks to the mask, they were still going strong—but he couldn’t help but wonder what kind of damage he’d taken on the inside.

  You know you wouldn’t have made it without those shields slowing you down, Rebekkah sent. She had the tone of someone telling a joke. I think he might have saved your life!

  I should thank him, he sent. Then he remembered that he’d landed a blow in the last instant before he hit the street. Alin was an Incarnation, true, but he’d seen Incarnations die from lesser wounds.

  If his eyes would hurry up and clear, instead of showing him a blurry world full of phantom doubles, he could check for himself.

  Hey Simon, Rebekkah said, still in her cheery tone. Put your hand out to the right.

  Simon didn’t question it; he reached blindly out and felt around on the street until something met his hands. It was a rough, round ball, about the same size as a coin, and it felt warm and slightly sticky.

  His hand jerked back. Was she trying to get him to put his hand on a bloody piece of someone’s body? What kind of gory prank was that?

  Don’t be a child. Pick it up.

  Reluctantly, Simon did as she asked. As his vision cleared, he saw that he was holding something like a dried fig, only dark red. It didn’t look sticky, or blood-covered, or anything else to account for the sensation, but it felt like it was trying to cling to his hands. It was too warm, and it seemed to almost pulse, as if it contained an impossibly small heart.

  What is it?

  Rebekkah gave the mental equivalent of a shrug. How would I know? But it feels important. I bet you two hours that it’s an artifact from another Territory. Probably Elysia. The Eldest will love that.

  Simon slipped the red fig into his pocket before he realized what she’d said. Wait. Hours? You bet hours?

  Yeah, she said casually. Hours out of the House. The only reason I came with you today is because I bet Otoku twelve hours that you’d earn the ghost armor. She thought you wouldn’t be able to do it for at least another two weeks.

  But…you don’t choose which doll I take, Simon sent. I do.

  Rebekkah’s mental voice took on a pitying tone. Awwww, that’s cute. You can believe that, if it makes you feel better.

  That idea became more disturbing the more he thought about it, so he put it out of his mind.

  Speaking of time, you’re almost out of it.

  Almost, he sent. Not quite. He could feel the chains wrapping around him; they twisted down his legs and under his feet, until he felt like he was bruising his heels on steel links with every step. They bound his ribs and snuck up his shoulders, and he could feel them sliding up his neck. Once they wrapped around his neck, like a Nye’s noose, he would be fully bound to Valinhall.

  Here, now, that almost certainly meant Incarnation.

  But it looked like he wouldn’t have to risk it.

  Alin lay less than five paces away, face-up in a pool of strangely glowing blood. His gold armor was split down the middle by a blow Simon didn’t remember delivering, and pieces of metal had flown all the way to Simon’s feet. Alin’s eyes were still rainbows, but they were frozen; they didn’t shift and change in the disturbing way they had when he was alive. His pale hair was matted and still, and he wore an almost comic look of surprise.

  Simon’s eyes burned, and he tried to wipe moisture away before realizing that he still had the mask on. Why should he care if Alin died? Simon had never liked him.

  But he shouldn’t have had to die. Alin had turned to Incarnation for no reason other than to save his sisters. He had taken over Enosh, and planned to take over Da
masca, to prevent tragedies like it from happening again.

  And he was from Myria. He wasn’t the kindest, or the easiest to talk to, but Simon had grown up with him. He remembered Alin getting caught stealing at eight years old, and talking his way out of it.

  Simon shouldn’t have been the one to kill him. If the world was right, Alin shouldn’t have to die at all.

  In your fantasy world, sure, Rebekkah said. In that magical Territory where nothing bad happens to anyone who doesn’t deserve it. That’s not reality, though, so take off your mask before you make this situation worse.

  Simon looked up at the waystation. None of the Elysian creatures had returned after Alin’s death; in fact, they seemed to be backing up farther. Indirial was still sprawled on the steps, twitching and shifting underneath his cloak. Overlord Feiora marched out the doors, an armed bird-man in front of her holding a pair of swords, and a raven circling her head. Finally, Leah stepped out, the Lightning Spear in one hand.

  “Did you get him?” she called.

  Simon winced. “I got him,” he yelled back. It sounded callous; they should have been mourning the death of a man they knew, not celebrating it.

  Despite the steel, essence, and stone running through him, begging to be used, he forced himself to sit down. When he took off the mask, he’d collapse, so it would be much better if he didn’t have quite so far to fall.

  When he was seated on the street, he reached up to peel off the mask.

  Eugan the raven let out a single, shrieking caw.

  Behind you! Rebekkah shouted. Get him!

  Simon jumped up, banishing and re-summoning Azura into his hand with a simple effort of will.

  Alin's body rose like a puppet pulled up by invisible strings. The wound across his chest sealed itself with a shimmering pink light, but his body still hung as stiff as a slab of meat on a hook. His arms dangled at his sides, his knees on the point of collapsing. He still stared as blankly as before, his rainbow eyes frozen mid-swirl.

  Kill him now! Rebekkah sent.

  Simon stood frozen. His every instinct in Valinhall was screaming at him to either finish Alin off or run, not to stand there like an idiot, but he had lost himself in regret for Alin's death. Now, he wasn't sure what to do.