City of Thirst

by Carrie Ryan

  But the flame in the lantern at his waist blazed, snapping him out of his thoughts. “The Machine is almost at full power,” it hissed, the sound practically lost to the thunder of water gushing in. “Even now it sifts through the Stream, distilling down the very essence of possibility. Even now, that ball could grant most normal wishes. Once it is full, nearly anything will become possible.”

  Fin glanced back around the corner at the glass ball beneath the funnel. If the water flowing above was golden, what filled the orb was molten. A yellow so bright and intense it almost hurt to look at. Only the Master’s dark shadow kept it from being blinding.

  “There’s no way past him,” Fin whispered. “He’ll definitely see me if I just try to walk up and grab it. I need a distraction.”

  The lantern flickered. The flame within had grown again, threatening to spill out. “Give me something to burn,” it commanded.

  Reluctantly, Fin tore free a scrap of cloth from his shirt and held it down to the fire. A spark floated up and landed on the fabric. There it smoldered, neither catching nor dying.

  “Place it here,” the King ordered. “Then make your way around, and be ready to grab the orb and wish.”

  Fin swallowed, preparing himself. He turned his wish over and over in his mind. I want to be remembered. “Just grab the ball and say it?” he whispered.

  “Just grab the ball and WILL it,” the fire instructed. “Leave the rest to me.”

  Fin did as he was told. He placed the scrap of cloth, still cradling its ember, just inside the chamber. Then carefully he crept around the edge of the room, trying not to draw attention. With each step, he grew more and more convinced that the Master would turn and see him at any second.

  Just as he reached the point where he was confident he was in the Master’s field of vision, fire exploded from the doorway. The Master turned slowly, deliberately. Fin caught a glimpse of his long beard, the only feature that showed he was human. Red lightning crackled across sharp metal fingertips.

  Smoke billowed up around the fire, thick and black, drowning it until the flames were nothing but a dim orange glow. The cloud seemed to shrink and squeeze, tendrils of gray and white coalescing into the shape of a person. With a shuffle of cloth, a bandaged, crooked figure stood across from the Master. “So ready to strike down an old man, yunh?”

  Fin recognized the opportunity. He danced across the floor, keeping his eyes on the ironclad wizard. Each step brought him closer to the golden orb.

  “You never were much of a talker, yunh?” the Salt Sand King continued. “But you never needed to be. I can feel you wanting, yunh? So powerful I can scarcely control myself…”

  Fin let his eyes skip away. Just a few yards ahead, one of the massive pipe-columns loomed; a brass support strut arched out from it, stretching across the empty air to the hanging platform. If he could shimmy up the pipe, he could scramble across the strut to the orb!

  He was so close to his wish it nearly overwhelmed him. A spike of sadness drove through the hot desire, though—the feeling that all this was for nothing. That despite everything, he would fail.

  “There is something cold here,” he heard the Salt Sand King say. For one, the King sounded troubled. “Something here that doesn’t want what it wants… how did I miss it?”

  Fin pushed down the worry, swallowed the sadness. He needed to focus—it would all be over in a moment. He threw himself up the pipe, caught the lip of the strut with his fingers, and swung himself hand over hand across it, ignoring the pit full of Stream water below. If he fell into it, the raw magic would destroy him. But he didn’t plan to fall.

  A moment later, he dropped to the platform. The orb shone bright before him. So bright he could smell yellow, taste light. He reached for it, feeling possibility crawl on his skin.

  “Oh, Fin,” a voice murmured across from him.

  He couldn’t see its owner through the blinding light.

  But he didn’t need to. The quiver in that voice was one he’d never thought he’d hear again, but it was also one he’d never forget. An all-too-familiar shiver ran down the length of his spine.

  A pale hand fell down to cup the wish orb. Its owner wore black robes adorned with white starbursts. The light of the wish glistened as it struck him, gleaming off his wet, black tears.

  “The things one wishes when one knows they can’t be granted,” the cold voice whispered. It was so sad. Fin had forgotten how sad it could sound.

  How sad it could make him feel.

  “Serth.” Fin’s lips moved on their own, even as his mind grappled with the presence of what should have been a dead man. He couldn’t tell if the weight in his heart was real, or if the wizard’s dark magic was infecting him once more.

  “Hello, Fin,” the Oracle said. “I’m so, so sorry to see you again.”

  CHAPTER 27

  The Reunion at Last

  Marrill made the final turn in a sleeper’s trance. The crusted salt columns were new, but the rest of this place was all too familiar, thanks to the Wiverwane memories. Every step was one she had made before; every stone was one she had fit into place. Just ahead, she knew, lay the chamber of the great machine.

  The King, despite himself, let out a little gasp. For here the whole room was inlaid in white marble and onyx, surrounding a great empty basin. He smiled as he recognized a familiar pattern decorating the floor. “My sigil,” he murmured appreciatively.

  Gears turned on every wall, the glass pipes pumping the stuff of wishes into a massive glass funnel suspended overhead. It was impossible and marvelous all at once. And it was his.

  “Behold,” said the Dawn Wizard, “the Syphon of Monerva!”

  As she neared the entrance to the chamber, a deep, welling ache spread through Marrill’s chest, snapping her out of the borrowed memories. Tears pricked her eyes. It was a familiar sorrow. She’d forgotten how intense it could be.

  Serth was here. Still alive. Already at the Syphon. Likely behind all of this from the beginning. After all, he’d seen the future.

  Her mind flew to the Map in her back pocket. Even with the Key gone, it didn’t matter. Serth didn’t need it anymore. Map or no Map, Key or no Key, he could wish the Lost Sun free, and destroy the whole Pirate Stream, just like that.

  If that happened, the Iron Tide wouldn’t even be an afterthought. All this time, they’d been afraid of the Master, when he was apparently just a lackey. Serth was the real threat.

  She couldn’t help but envision his trembling hands smearing black tears into a message sketched on an old stop sign. Marrill swallowed hard, trying desperately to beat back the hopelessness that surged through her.

  At the base of her neck, the Wiverwane tickled her with one long finger, making her skin ripple. Familiar memories flooded.

  “Don’t listen to him!” Marrill cried, voice breaking from the cold. She couldn’t see who she was speaking to; it was like someone had picked up an ink drawing with a wet hand, smudging just the one spot. Beneath her feet, the Black Dragon strained to stay afloat.

  Serth’s sadness wrapped around her, pushing its way into the empty spaces inside her and making them grow. His fingers were icicles against her skin. His breath was the north wind on her neck.

  But inside her, warmth flowed. A warmth that melted the ice. A hope that defied the sorrow. She still didn’t know who she was talking to, but she knew that together, this sorrow, this desperation, was no match for them. She pressed her thumb to her chest, in a sign the Oracle’s power would never overcome.

  Marrill’s heart pounded. The same warm sense of strength and determination she’d had in the memory flowed through her once again. She’d stood up to Serth and fought back his tide of sorrow before. She could do it now, too. There was no other option.

  “Okay. I can do this.” She squared her shoulders. “You ready?” she asked the Wiverwane. It skittered off her shoulder to tuck itself into her pocket. “Okay, maybe not. But we’re going in anyway.”

  She placed her
hand against the door and pushed her way into the massive chamber, ready for anything. A gout of fire roared past her. In a nearby doorway, at the source of the flame, stood the burning outline of the Salt Sand King.

  Almost anything, she mentally added.

  She jumped back, shielding her face, but the flames weren’t directed at her. They shot across the room, breaking against an iron-clad figure. At the center of a raging inferno, the Master stood calm, one foot on the edge of a great pit, one on the stairs leading up to the platform suspended over it. His dark armor glowed from heat, but not even the unquenchable fire of the Burning Plain was hot enough to melt it. Even through the blaze, she could see the red lightning crackling around him.

  The entire chamber vibrated with heat and energy. Behind the Master, an orb glowed impossibly bright, forcing her to look away. The wish.

  The Wiverwane shrank deeper into her pocket. Marrill wanted nothing more than to do the same, but she forced herself forward. She didn’t see Serth. But, with the Master and the Salt Sand King distracting each other, this might be her best chance.

  She knew to keep her back to the wall and her eyes on the dueling foes as she darted around the edge of the chamber. Someone had taught her that skill, but at the moment, she just didn’t have the time to remember who.

  The Master stepped forward, pushing back the flames. The stairs were clear. “Grab the wish orb! Now!” the Salt Sand King commanded, his voice echoing with the snapping of burning wood.

  Marrill startled. But no, he couldn’t have been talking to her. And it didn’t matter. What mattered was keeping Serth and the Master from wishing, and stopping the Syphon from destroying her world.

  She darted from the wall and sprinted toward the basin. Her legs pumped, carrying her as fast as she could possibly go. All her attention was on avoiding the Master; he was close enough now that she felt the heat still radiating from him. She hit the stairs so hard, she practically leapt up them.

  And skidded to a stop, narrowly avoiding the frozen touch of the figure standing on the platform.

  “Girl with wings.” Serth’s lips trembled; black tears cut down his deathly pale face. “I hate that you have to be here. I truly, truly do.”

  “Marrill!” another voice cried. It was a boy around her own age, with olive skin and dark, shaggy hair. He seemed to know her, but she had no idea where from.

  “Leave her alone,” he yelled, running at Serth. The Oracle turned and batted him aside with a toss of his hand. The kid flew backward, barely catching himself at the edge of the platform, his feet dangling over the Stream-filled pit. Marrill’s heart lodged in her throat.

  “Where were we?” Serth asked. He seemed genuinely unsure. Then he snapped his long fingers. “Yes! Right. You begin…” His eyes glanced past her. “Over there.”

  With a flick of his fingers, she went flying across the room, crashing heavily against the wall. She shook her head, trying to chase away the stars that suddenly floated in her vision.

  “Marrill!” she heard someone cry. A moment later a hand fell on her arm. “You okay?” It was the shaggy-haired kid; somehow she’d completely lost sight of him. He rubbed one arm where frost clung to his jacket.

  She pushed him away, jumping to her feet and raising her arms in her best imitation of Coll’s fighting stance. “Who are you? How do you know my name?” she asked, bracing herself to strike.

  The brightness of his eyes drained away, and his smile faltered. “I’m Fin… your friend?”

  She shook her head, taking a step back to put more distance between them.

  He sighed. “Listen, now’s not the time. We have to stop the Syphon before it fills the orb. We can’t let Serth or the Master make their wish.” He smiled. “You know, defeat evil, save the world. As usual.”

  A smile tugged the corners of her lips. She didn’t know if she could trust this kid. But right now, she didn’t have a choice. “How?”

  He glanced at where the Master squared off against the roaring fire of the Salt Sand King. “The King’s got old Iron Boots. You draw Serth away, and I’ll duck in and steal the wish.”

  Marrill narrowed her eyes. No way she was falling for this. “Uh-uh. You want to help? You distract Serth and I’ll snag the wish.”

  Even as she spoke, a wind picked up out of nowhere. Marrill held up her hand to shield her eyes. Just in time, too, because a roar like an inferno filled the chamber, and the whole room exploded in a flash of light.

  The fire that had cloaked the room was gone. Little flames flickered across the floor and on the walls. They were all that remained of the Salt Sand King.

  And then Serth stood before them.

  “Blisterwinds,” the kids muttered.

  Overwhelming sadness tunneled through Marrill, icy claws grabbing at her heart. In her pocket she felt the Wiverwane trembling.

  “The reunion at last,” Serth said, choking on a sob. He wiped at his streaming eyes with the back of one pale hand. “Is it everything you hoped it would be, little lost boy? Or have you realized now that no one cares about you?”

  Beside her, the boy flinched, his shoulders sinking under the weight of Serth’s words. He fell to his knees, tears gathering in his eyes.

  Marrill felt a stab of pity—no one deserved to be told such terrible lies. She clenched her hands into fists and stomped forward. “Everyone has someone out there who cares about them!”

  Serth swept himself toward her. She sucked in a breath and crossed her arms over her chest, as though that could somehow protect her.

  “Oh, do they?” he asked. He tilted his head to the side and black tears trailed along his jaw. “Even”—a sob broke through—“me?”

  Marrill opened her mouth but couldn’t find an answer. And then she felt the Wiverwane shifting in her pocket. A fingertip slipped out, tapping her arm. She was plunged into a memory.

  The Oracle crouched in a corner, weeping, his arms wrapped around his legs as he rocked himself. “Dragons and whirlpools… no, whirlpools then dragons…”

  Annalessa knelt beside him. It broke her heart to see him like this. He had always been the strong one. He had always been the one who laughed when things looked hopeless. She wondered if she could possibly shoulder that burden.

  Her hand wavered over his shoulder. It would hurt to touch him. Ever since he drank from the Stream, even the slightest brush was unbearable.

  “Out of order, out of order,” he mumbled. “Crow for comfort, light through water.”

  She put her hand down anyway. The cold seared against her skin like frostbite. “It’s okay,” she whispered. “We’ll find a way to help you.”

  Marrill forced her way out of the memory. “Annalessa cares about you,” she said. “She wanted to help you.”

  For a moment, Serth was silent. A fat black tear teetered on the edge of his eye, before tipping over and slicing way down his cheek. “Tell me, then,” he whispered. “Where is she now?”

  Pain and loneliness stabbed at Marrill’s gut, but she fought against them. “She would be here if you’d let her. Ardent, too.”

  Serth laughed, a halting, gasping laugh. “His place in this I have never questioned.” He spun away, fingers fluttering in the air. “But then, you would know about running away from those who love you, wouldn’t you?”

  A boy she didn’t recognize appeared out of nowhere. “Don’t listen to him, Marrill! He’s trying to get in your head. He was wrong before. He’ll be wrong again.”

  Serth reached out, ignoring the kid. One long blackened fingernail trailed lightly down Marrill’s cheek, leaving a line of searing cold behind it. He clutched her chin. “Are you sure you really want to go back home?”

  Her tears turned to ice as they trailed down her cheeks. “Yes,” she whispered, her teeth chattering. Yet even she could hear how weak her response sounded.

  He shook his head sadly. “But you worked so hard to escape.”

  “I didn’t escape,” she protested. “I… I c-came here because they n-nee
ded me.”

  “They needed you or you needed them?”

  “Leave her alone!” someone cried. The boy grabbed Marrill’s hand and yanked her away, out of Serth’s grip. She’d totally forgotten he was even there.

  “Listen,” he told her. “I’m a friend. You just don’t remember. But before you forget again, do you think maybe we could figure out a way to stop those two”—he glanced from Serth to the Master—“from destroying the world?”

  She looked at where the Master stood by the Syphon. Power radiated around him, crackling through the air like static electricity. At his command, the Pirate Stream gushed into the funnel overhead, frothing and churning, and spilling out over the sides.

  The Syphon was going faster than ever. She had to stop them before they destroyed her world! She didn’t know this boy or if she could trust him, but she couldn’t defeat the Master and Serth alone.

  She needed his help.

  “Okay,” she agreed. “You hold off Serth. I’ll make a dash for the orb.”

  But Serth was already walking away from them, whimpering as he went. “Please don’t bother,” he told them. “My friend,” he called to the Master, “help them not bother.”

  The Master of the Iron Ship looked down from the platform. Beneath his faceless mask, his cold blue eyes seemed to slice straight through Marrill. With a sharp cut of his hand through the air, an arc of power flashed upward, severing the lattice of pipes that lined the ceiling. Stream water rained down around the platform, obscuring it from view.

  Serth’s mouth twitched, something between a smile and a grimace. Then, as if it were nothing, he stepped straight through the glowing curtain of water.

  Marrill gasped, expecting to see him explode into a school of minnows, or a demon howl, or something. But it didn’t happen. He’d passed through as if it were nothing.

  Despair swallowed Marrill. A rain of pure magic now cut her off from the heart of the Syphon.