City of Thirst

by Carrie Ryan

  “Ropebone Man!” she cried as the ship surfed up toward her. “Incoming!”

  A line shot from the rigging, zipping straight for her. The transition was seamless. Elle let her go, tossing her through the air like a trapeze performer. She was airborne for several long, gut-wrenching moments. Then Ropebone had her.

  “Thanks, Elle!” she shouted, hoping the snail could hear, as Ropebone Man lowered her carefully to the deck. The green snail tail waved at her before retracting back up the Wall.

  The moment her feet touched solid-ish ground, she felt the tap of the Wiverwane’s leg against her neck. A series of memories flooded through her, all of them with one dominant emotion: relief. “I’d think you’d be used to wild rides like that!” She giggled as the creature retreated back under her collar.

  “Thanks, Ropebone Man!” Marrill said, giving the rope a tug.

  She’d barely been on board for half a second when a small door leading below deck burst open, and a ball of orange fur came bounding out. His claws scrabbled against the wooden deck as he charged toward her. He leapt and she caught him midair.

  “Hey, you!” Marrill cried, burying her face in Karny’s fur, letting the rumble of his purr warm her heart. He bonked his head against her cheek, shifting his legs so he could snuggle even closer.

  She closed her eyes, and for a moment it felt like being home.

  She felt a stab of sorrow at the thought of her house in Arizona. When had she started thinking of it as home, and not just a place where they were living until her mom got better? Hopefully, she’d be waiting there when her parents got home, and they’d never even realize she’d been missing. Hopefully, she would have a world left to be waiting in.

  Speaking of home… Marrill glanced around the deck of the Kraken. Almost every available surface was loaded down with junk. And most of it looked uncomfortably familiar. A collection of portable electronics sat next to a pile of sporting equipment and a heap of holiday decorations. With each wave, it all shifted and rolled in a great clattering cacophony.

  The Naysayer shuffled between the mounds, all four of his arms full of junk. He looked her way, and his sour face brightened. “Where’d you get off to?” he asked.

  Marrill smiled back. “I went up the Wall looking for the Syphon—”

  “Not you,” the Naysayer grunted dismissively. He shifted his piles until he’d freed a hand to reach for Karny. When Marrill twisted away, he settled for giving the cat a scratch under his chin. “Doesn’t like the waves, y’know,” he told her.

  “Where is everyone?” she asked.

  The Naysayer shrugged. “Gallivanting, I assume. Wasn’t invited. Wouldn’t have gone if I had been. Mannerless cretins.”

  Marrill bit her lip and searched the sky. She thought she caught a gleam in the distance, an errant ray of light reflecting off the bronze bowl of the firefleer. She was pretty sure the balloon was headed back toward Monerva. Still the air must have been really angry at Ardent to have blown him so far off course.

  She wondered if she should wait for them before going to look for the Syphon. On the one hand, having two wizards by her side would definitely increase her odds of success. On the other hand, they still seemed a long way off.

  She shook her head. “So, what is all this stuff?” she asked the Naysayer.

  He looked her up and down. “Mine. And don’t go thinking I won’t notice if any of it’s missing. Some of it’s been washing in with the tide. Some of it I salvaged from the deep. Turns out when ya let a city slide into the sea for who knows how many years, a lot of stuff gets taken down with it. Catacombs are full of interestin’ stuff.”

  Marrill froze. “Did you say ‘catacombs’?”

  That’s when Karny tensed in her arms, and before she could do anything to stop him, he pounced toward her shoulder. The Wiverwane flailed, scrambling up the side of Marrill’s head.

  Her skin rippled. Memories assaulted her, hitting in bright flashes. Serth standing in front of a font of golden water, lifting a cup to his lips. Ardent bent over a sheaf of papers, scribbling as Serth raved. Annalessa’s hand on Ardent’s arm, trying to draw him into the warm sun.

  And then the memories were gone. The Wiverwane took to the air, flapping wildly, trying unsuccessfully to gain height. Karny charged after it, shoving off Marrill’s shoulder. He crashed into a pile of old tires, already scrambling.

  The Naysayer plucked Karny free of the debris at the same time a rope dropped from the rigging directly into the Wiverwane’s path. The creature clung to it gratefully.

  Marrill cleared her throat as she toed a stop sign that had come to rest against her shoe. For a second, she thought of the message that had brought her here in the first place. She still had no idea who had sent it. But this sign was completely blank; it offered her no answers.

  “So…” she tried, “what are the odds you’ll show me the way down into the catacombs of Monerva?”

  “’Bout the same as the odds you’ll learn to mind your own business,” the Naysayer grunted. “So none.”

  Marrill bit her lip. She had to get down there. And it would be much, much easier if she had help. “What if I told you the fate of the world was at stake?”

  He seemed to consider it for a moment. It turned out to be a sneeze. “Didn’t care last time. Don’t care this time. Won’t care next time.”

  Her eyes fell on a stack of tennis rackets. “I could show you how to use those?” she offered.

  “Are you going to beat yerself unconscious with ’em?” he asked.

  Marrill’s shoulders slumped. “Fine. What if I let you take care of Karny while we’re—”

  “Done.”

  Marrill blinked. “Okay… so… how do we get into these catacombs?”

  The Naysayer didn’t smile. She wasn’t even sure he could smile. But what he did was close enough to be particularly unsettling. “The more pertinent question is, how long can you hold your breath?”

  Marrill stood next to the Naysayer inside the husk of an ancient ship, staring down at the pool of brackish water waiting below her belly. It wasn’t glowing like pure Stream water, but there was still a soft sheen to it that lit up the bare timbers of the wreck.

  How the Naysayer had found this place, she had no idea. But the ship must have run aground on an ancient part of the sinking city, because according to him, beneath the water, a flooded tunnel led straight down to the heart of the catacombs.

  “How do I know it won’t turn me into a topiary?” Marrill protested.

  “’Cause I ain’t that lucky,” the Naysayer said. “And if you can’t trust a Naysayer, who can ya trust?”

  “Off the top of my head?”

  But the Naysayer didn’t hear her, because he’d already jumped. He hit the surface hard, sending up a splash that coated her legs. She winced, but when they didn’t turn into a pair of lizards ballroom dancing, she pressed a hand against her shirt pocket where her Wiverwane huddled. If she wanted to save her world, she didn’t have much of a choice.

  “Here goes everything,” she said, jumping.

  For being brackish, the water at the base of the Wall was remarkably clear. She could see the Naysayer ahead of her, and she paddled after him, trying not to panic as her lungs squeezed. He’d promised her that it wouldn’t be too far, but seeing how easily he stroked through the water with his four arms, she wasn’t sure they had the same ideas about distance.

  Just when she didn’t think she could go much farther, a jolt of confidence shot through her. Memories flooded her mind: scuba diving with her dad in Indonesia, splashing in a frozen lake in Alaska, swimming across a roaring river in Colorado. The Wiverwane was drawing them out, giving her strength. She forced herself forward, kicking hard.

  Two sets of hands grabbed her, pulling her through a short tunnel and past a valve. The Naysayer quickly closed it and the water drained away. A cool draft struck Marrill’s face. She gasped, choking as she swallowed gulps of air.

  “Thanks,” she finally wh
eezed to the Wiverwane. A ripple of memory shivered through her—a bright moment of lying in the sun as a toddler. She guessed it was the creature’s equivalent of a dog wagging its tail.

  Nearby she heard a crack, and then a burst of blue light illuminated their surroundings. A surge of hope and energy flowed through her as she looked around.

  Where she could see it, the ceiling wasn’t much more than bare beams and the sheer bottoms of walls. The floor was a series of half-rotted planks with gaping holes here and there. “So these are the catacombs?” she croaked.

  The Naysayer laughed. It echoed and boomed around them. “You wish,” he said, holding up a glowing blue crystal; frozen-hope. At least now she knew where the light—and her sudden burst of optimism—was coming from.

  He started walking and Marrill scrabbled after him, not wanting to be left alone in the darkness. The floor sagged and moaned under her steps. She cringed, expecting it to fall away at any minute.

  In some places, it already had. The Naysayer reached a gap between thick floorboards and squatted by it. “Drop here,” he grunted before disappearing. Marrill watched the blue dot of light fade, and a coldness swept in around her.

  She quickly scurried after him. The Naysayer weaved his way from room to room, sometimes heading down flights of stairs and other times jumping through holes in the floor. It was like an intricate, three-dimensional maze.

  Marrill found herself panting to keep up. “How do you even know where you’re going? I mean, you do know where you’re going. Don’t you?”

  He tapped his forehead. “If there’s stuff to be found and claimed, you can trust me to be the one findin’ and claimin’.”

  Oddly, Marrill did trust that. But still, she had misgivings. “How deep do you think we are?”

  The Naysayer thumped down a series of steep pedestals. “I figger the city’s been sinkin’ for about a hundred years, give or take a thousand. So… deep.”

  She glanced up, suddenly keenly aware of just how much was piled above her. The weight of generations of towers and buildings, all resting on the half-rotted timbers surrounding her. She placed her hand against one, to reassure herself.

  It trembled under her touch. The vibrations grew stronger until she jerked away in alarm. A rumble came from far away, growing louder by the moment. “Um… that doesn’t sound good.”

  The Naysayer glanced toward the ceiling. “Oh, fer jellying jigglefish. Again?” He let out a sigh.

  “What?” Marrill asked, not sure she wanted to know the answer.

  “You impervious to magic?” he grunted. Behind them the roar grew, the walls beginning to shudder.

  Panic caused her heart to trip. “No. You?”

  He shrugged. “Ish.”

  “How much ish?” she asked.

  “I guess we’ll find out.” He pointed. “That way. Run!”

  He led her across the room to a large decorative fountain. There was a gaping hole in the center of it. “This’ll take you into the plumbing system. It’ll get you to the catacombs eventually. A few left turns, then some right ones.” He paused. “There’s also some wrong ones but I wouldn’t take those if I was you. Unless you have a penchant for spiderpillars?”

  Marrill had no idea, but they didn’t sound good. “No thank you?”

  The Naysayer grunted. “Good choice.” He shoved her into the fountain.

  “But what about you? Aren’t you coming with me?” Marrill cried.

  “Nah. Someone’s gotta block the pipe after you go.” He patted a solid slab of dullwood large enough to cover the hole in the fountain. “Otherwise, what’s the point?”

  Marrill’s throat tightened, her heart racing with panic. “B-but—” She swallowed, throat thick. She clung to two of the Naysayer’s meaty wrists. “What will happen to you?”

  “Same thing that happens to all Naysayers, I’d imagine.” He dropped a couple of hope crystals into her hand.

  That didn’t answer her question. “Which is?”

  He shrugged all four shoulders. And before she could stop him, he slid the dullwood slab across the opening, plunging her into darkness.

  She closed her eyes, trying to keep the tears from escaping. She wanted to believe he’d get out. Because he was just ornery enough to do so. Either way, but for the Wiverwane, she was utterly and completely alone now.

  More than anything else, she wanted to curl up in a ball, wrap her arms around her knees, and cry. She wanted her mom to rub her hand down her back and tell her everything was going to be okay.

  But time was running out. The gears were already turning. Her world was already being sucked onto the Pirate Stream.

  With a trembling breath, she cracked open a hope crystal. Its warmth infused her, chasing away her doubt and fears, filling her with optimism.

  She could do this. She would do this.

  Crouching, she held the crystal aloft to light up her surroundings. She’d landed in the junction point for what looked like seven pipes. One led up to the fountain above. The others led in six different directions.

  “A few left turns, a few right turns and avoid the wrong turns.” Her voice trailed off as she looked around. A terrible feeling grew in the pit of her stomach, strong enough that even the hope crystal couldn’t beat it back.

  “This is where you come in, little guy,” she told the Wiverwane. “Let’s hope you remember the way to the Syphon.”

  CHAPTER 26

  The Syphon of Monerva

  Fin wound deeper and deeper into the salt-encrusted catacombs. They’d been walking for so long he had no idea how much time had passed or how much distance they’d covered. It felt like they’d gone far enough to make it all the way to the Wall.

  “Left here,” the candle on his belt hissed. “Now right. Straight for a while. That wall is really a door. That door is really a wall.”

  “Wow, you guys really didn’t want anyone stumbling onto this thing, huh?” Fin asked as he pried the salt off a trapdoor in the middle of a hallway.

  “The Syphon can destroy worlds and grant wishes,” said the Salt Sand King. “We could have just left it lying around with a Do Not Touch sign on it, but this seemed slightly wiser.”

  As they pressed deeper, glass piping filled with bright Stream water reached in through the walls. Raw magic to fuel the Wish Machine, Fin realized. He shook his head. “How much does it take to grant a wish?”

  “That depends on the size of the wish,” the King told him. “Already, the Syphon has sucked down enough magic to grant most any mortal his heart’s desire. But that’s not enough to satisfy the Master. He thirsts like I thirst. If the Stream were not endless, he would drain the whole thing dry.”

  Ahead, the salt-covered walls opened up. The pulsing of the air mixed with the dull roar of a distant waterfall. The whole hallway glowed with golden light.

  “We’re getting close now,” the King told him. “When we reach the chamber, step lightly. The Master must not know we are here.”

  Fin took a deep, shuddering breath. He felt an ache in the center of his chest he didn’t quite understand. He knew he should be happy—he was almost to the Syphon! He was going to get his wish!

  And yet there was still something missing: Marrill. Regret bit deep into him. Maybe he shouldn’t have stayed behind on the Burning Plain after all. She wanted her wish as badly as he wanted his. And he wanted her to get it. Even if she had forgotten him.

  He shook the thought from his head. She had forgotten him, though. If all went well, maybe he would be able to wish for her, too. If that didn’t happen and she missed out, well, he’d feel pretty bad about it. But it was her own fault. Not his.

  “Okay,” he whispered to the light at his side. “I’m ready. What now?”

  “I can feel the desire radiating off him,” the King hissed. Fin noticed he was flaring a little higher than before, burning just a little brighter. “It’s so strong I can barely stand it. His wish is nearly granted. All his attention is on it, and he won’t be able to
focus on you at all. Sneak in, grab the wish orb, and make a wish of your own, quickly.”

  Fin nodded. Sneaking, stealing, and wishing. The Salt Sand King was right—he’d been made for this.

  Staying low, he stepped into a massive domed chamber. The floor was covered in white marble inlaid with red onyx in the shape of a dragon under a circle—the sigil of the Salt Sand King. Except here the circle was a great basin, a gaping open pit. And the mountains within it, Fin now realized, were the waves of magical water sucked from the Pirate Stream.

  Above it, like an inverted mirror, Stream water swirled in a torrent through a great glass funnel hung from the ceiling. It was a gigantic whirlpool, suspended in midair.

  The Syphon of Monerva.

  Six huge pipes, bent like straws at the top, ringed it, drawing water from the basin below and dumping it into the funnel.

  Fin blinked, trying to take in the whole scene: the intricate network of delicate glass pipes filled with Stream water adorning the ceiling, the gears along the wall whirring as they pumped raw magic through the chamber, the elaborate pattern of red onyx inlaid on the floor.

  But it was the center of the chamber that was most important. Because at the center of the room, the water spiraled tighter and tighter as it reached the tip of the funnel, until it poured out in a line so thin and delicate it was almost a thread. A thread that trickled down from the ceiling into a glass ball waiting on a pedestal below, filling slowly.

  There was only one thing that could be, Fin thought: the wish.

  But the pedestal stood on a platform that hung out in the air over the basin, suspended by brass struts anchored to the column-pipes. The only way to reach it was a set of stone stairs that led up from the rim of the pit. And standing at the top of those stairs, his back to them as he watched the glass ball fill, was a figure clad head to toe in armor: the Master of the Iron Ship.

  Fin couldn’t help the wave of fear that washed through him. Even though he’d known the Master would be here, actually seeing him again was chilling.

  Fin ducked back into the passageway. He closed his eyes against the uncertainty that flowed through him. For a second, he considered turning around. Maybe Marrill had been right. Maybe he did need Ardent.