City of Thirst

by Carrie Ryan

  “What am I going to do?” she whimpered.

  Beside her someone cleared his throat. “What are we going to do. And here’s a tip: If you could just leave a tiny little bit of your focus on my existence while you’re trying to figure that out, it would help. Also, my name’s Fin.”

  “It’s impossible,” she said. “We can’t stop them. We can’t reach them. There’s no way.”

  The boy shook his head. “No,” he said. “That’s Serth talking, and I’m not going to listen. There has to be a way. There’s always a way. I just… don’t know what it is yet, that’s all.”

  Marrill stared at the Syphon. From where she stood, she could just make out the shadow of the Master through the sheet of water, a dark blur commanding the Stream to pour in ever faster. Pulling her world closer and closer to destruction.

  “Maybe if we could destroy the Machine,” she said, thinking out loud. But she knew full well that wasn’t possible. “Except we can’t. Because what the Dzane made, nothing but the Dzane can destroy.” Her knees wobbled. A gaping chasm of emptiness opened up in her chest.

  She’d failed. She hadn’t saved her mother or her world. She’d simply run from it all and then hoped she could wish her problems away. But of course it could never be that easy.

  “That’s it!” someone breathed. She raised her head to find a boy crouched next to her. “What the Dzane made!” He reached into a bag on his belt and pulled out a sun-shaped crystal knob. “And you have the Map.”

  She pushed away from him. “How did you get that?”

  “Does it matter?” he asked. “We can use it to open the Gate.”

  All the blood drained from Marrill’s face. “Are you kidding?”

  “No,” he replied. “We already know it’ll work. Remember? Up on the top of Monerva? We opened the Gate accidentally, and it blasted through the Wall!”

  Marrill narrowed her eyes. How could this kid know about that? He hadn’t been there. On the other hand, he had a point. The light of the Lost Sun had blasted through the Wall. It had even severed one of the gears.

  “Trust me.” His voice sounded weak. Desperate even.

  Marrill looked deep into his eyes. She couldn’t help but think maybe she’d seen him before. Maybe he had been there.

  Suddenly, something Remy said came back to her. There’s another kid. Plus One. Marrill, plus one.

  She grabbed the kid’s hand so fast that even she was surprised. She had to trust her instinct. And her instinct said she could trust him. That he was a good person.

  “Okay,” she said. “Let’s do it.”

  CHAPTER 28

  Sunrise

  Relief flooded through Fin. Even if she didn’t remember him, something inside Marrill still cared. Something still trusted him. They could still work together.

  Through the gushing water, Serth let out a wail of triumph. The Stream funneled in ever faster. Fin could see odd bits of Marrill’s world coming down the pipes, changing in the magical flow even as he watched. He had no idea how much time they had left, but it wasn’t much.

  Marrill hesitated, Map in hand. “Okay,” she said. “If we’re going to do this terrible, stupid, very dumb thing, let’s do it!” She unrolled the Map with a flick of her wrist, kneeling as she set it on the ground.

  Fin crouched next to her, Key in hand. His fingers fit easily between the rays of the crystal sun as he lowered it. Already he could feel the parchment hum as it came alive.

  “Wait,” Marrill said before he could touch it to the surface. He looked up, meeting her eyes. “I don’t remember you, but… thank you.”

  Fin laughed. “If you remembered me, you’d be yelling at me for getting you into this in the first place,” he said, surprising himself. It wasn’t like him to take responsibility when he didn’t have to. Then he touched the Key to the Map.

  The Map shook. Its surface buckled, just like it had on the Wall. Only this time, they wanted it to open. The ink thickened, the parchment morphed and grew. A long line split the paper in half. The arms of the crystal sun stretched, becoming handles.

  The Gate was complete. And lying flat on the floor, staring up at them.

  “If we open it, the rays are just going to blast the ceiling,” Marrill pointed out. “Which will burst the rest of the pipes, dousing us in Pirate Stream water.”

  “And possibly turn us into wombats,” Fin finished. “Looks like we’re going to have to do a little more working together than I thought.”

  She looked him straight in the eye and nodded. Fin felt a flood of warmth rush through him. For the time being, at least, she saw him again.

  Marrill moved around to the top of the Gate and crouched, slipping her fingers underneath the edge of it. “It’s still light as paper!” Overhead, the sound of the Stream draining grew to a massive, overwhelming roar. “Get ready to open it,” she warned.

  He gripped the handle. “Got it.” He held the Gate steady while Marrill lifted it high, bracing herself behind it until it was almost perpendicular to the ground.

  “Okay,” Fin said. “Here goes everything.”

  He yanked hard against the Gate’s handle, feeling it buckle beneath his hands. As light as lifting the Map had been, opening those doors felt unbearably heavy. He planted his feet and pulled as hard as he could.

  The Gate creaked. Rays of light sliced the air. Wherever they struck, metal bent, stone melted, glass simply ceased to be.

  “Tilt it higher!” Fin directed. He tried to angle the whole thing with one hand while holding on to the door with the other. The Gate felt like bronze and pencil lead beneath his fingers. His skin tingled, nearly itching.

  The light of the Lost Sun struck the gears of the Syphon and scattered, reflecting tiny beams that drilled holes in the walls around them. Fin’s chest tightened as though grabbed by the Master’s steely fist. It wasn’t working.

  But just as he teetered on the verge of despair, certain that not even the light of pure destruction could harm the Dawn Wizard’s Machine, a wrenching shriek filled the air. The metal glowed hot.

  Fin pulled harder on the Gate to let more light out.

  As each beam struck it, the Wish Machine resisted, sagged, then finally gave way. Gears snapped free and bounded across the floor. Pipes vanished in bursts of bright sparks. One of the big brass struts squealed and tore in half. Another followed.

  With two of its supports severed, the platform at the heart of the Wish Machine sagged and tilted to one side. Through the continued shower of Stream water, Fin could just make out Serth and the Master swaying to stay balanced. He smiled a grim smile. The Oracle hadn’t foreseen this.

  He tugged at the door, aiming the beams of the Lost Sun at another support. The deadly light sliced it in two and carved into the ceiling beyond, blasting a hole out to who-knew-where. The platform tilted further. The wish orb wobbled on its pedestal, a pendulum dangling from its thin golden thread.

  “Quickly now!” Serth shrieked above the din. He held his arms out to either side for balance. A deep rumble sounded overhead.

  Red lightning sparked through the air. The Master raised one hand, urging the tide to come faster. The other stretched out toward Fin and Marrill.

  Everything moved in slow motion. “To the right!” Fin cried. A long, cruel finger leveled at him; in a moment, they’d be dead.

  He threw the Gate open, not caring how much deadly light he let free. A spear of brightness pierced the rain of Stream water and struck the Master of the Iron Ship square in his chest. For a moment, the ghost in iron simply stood there, struggling against the Lost Sun of Dzannin, as if his will alone could outlast its power.

  His white beard burst into flames. His black armor glowed red, then white-hot. His boots started to melt at the edges, sliding him backward. The Master struggled to step toward them, but instead he slipped, toppled backward, and fell over the side of the platform, into the Stream-filled basin below.

  “One down!” Fin hollered in triumph. “Serth, you’re next!
”

  But the Oracle just shook his head wistfully, and stepped deliberately toward the light. Almost as if he wanted the light to strike him.

  “What’s he doing?” Marrill yelled from behind the Gate. “Is he crazy?”

  The Lost Sun’s rays smashed into the Oracle’s porcelain skin, flowed over and across it, and seemed to sink into his body. The sound that came from him was neither a laugh nor a cry, not a howl of pain nor a victory shout, but somehow all of those things at once. It scraped down the back of Fin’s spine and clawed at his stomach.

  “Dawn, Sun of Dzannin!” Serth growled. “Light my path!” He moved himself fully between the Gate and the nearly filled wish orb.

  Fin gave Marrill an uncertain glance. “I’m going to open it wider!” He hauled against the Gate with all his might. It creaked, then gave way, slamming open. The full light of the Lost Sun blasted out into the chamber, blinding him.

  “Fill me with your power!” Serth bellowed. The Lost Sun’s rays poured onto the evil wizard, as if he were sucking it into himself.

  “Uh-oh,” Fin murmured. The Oracle, blazing with light, descended the stone steps toward them. At his back, the Syphon was a ruin of jagged metal and shattered glass. A last bit of Stream water drizzled into the wish orb, then the flow was no more.

  The orb, no longer gathering magic, dropped from the air, bounced down the steps, and rolled across the chamber. Serth paid it no mind. As he reached the final step, the whole platform groaned and collapsed into the basin below.

  “Behold the power of destruction!” he snarled. The light of the Lost Sun formed a halo around him. The air crackled. Stone smoldered where he passed.

  Fin met Marrill’s eyes. He could see his own terror reflected in them. He gulped. “I think we may have messed up.”

  CHAPTER 29

  Lessons in Perspective

  Serth raised a finger. “Get back!” Marrill squealed. She wobbled the Map hard to the right. Her new friend scrabbled behind the door as a ray of light seared past him.

  So much for trying to close the Gate, Marrill thought. Apparently, the Oracle wouldn’t allow it.

  Serth continued toward them. Slowly. Haltingly. It was as if the Sun’s light were a rope, and he was pulling himself hand over hand up it. Toward the Gate. And beyond it, toward them.

  Helplessness crept over her. The Lost Sun couldn’t kill Serth. Stream water couldn’t kill Serth. He would reach the Map, bring out the Lost Sun, and destroy the Stream. He was unbeatable.

  And she was all alone.

  Just then, someone yanked on her sleeve. A boy—the boy—was looking at her, his expression fierce. “Fight off the sadness, Marrill,” he told her. “We already took down one unstoppable evil wizard today. No time to give up just yet, right? We can do this!”

  Marrill choked down the sorrow and stood tall. But now Serth was almost upon them. Each new step left a burnt crater on the ground. Energy coursed over and around him as he moved.

  “We can do this together,” Marrill repeated. She took a deep breath. And she wasn’t alone. There were two of them now facing down Serth from both sides of the Gate.

  Both sides. The memory of the Dawn Wizard came back to her. The key was to look at things from both sides. The cost and the gain. The in and the out.

  Her jaw dropped. She had to think about the Gate from the other side. Because a gate works in two directions.

  “The Gate goes both ways,” she whispered. “The Lost Sun can come out of it—”

  “—but Serth can also go in!” the kid squealed. “Marrill, you’re brilliant!”

  Time was running out. Serth closed on them, just a few feet away now. Already, he reached toward them. Already, the end was upon them. “Let the Prophecy be fulfilled at last!” he cried.

  “It’s no good,” the kid groaned, barely audible over Serth’s wailing and the crash of the broken Machine. “We can’t touch him, remember? There’s no way to push him in!”

  Marrill had felt the searing cold of Serth’s touch before; she knew he was right. The frame of the Gate wobbled in her shaking hand.

  And then she remembered—the Map was made of paper. She laughed. “Of course there is!” she said. “Opening that door may be hard, but moving this thing is a cinch!”

  “Come forward, Star of Destruction!” the dark wizard cried. He was mere inches away, his fingers stretching toward the opening. Ready to pull forth the Lost Sun of Dzannin. Ready to end the world.

  Marrill caught the kid’s eye. “On three?” Even though she didn’t know him from anyone, Marrill knew they were thinking the same thing. One, she mouthed.

  He crouched, grabbing hold of the bottom of the gate. She did the same.

  “Come forward, end of all time!” Serth shrieked.

  TwothreeNOW! she shouted.

  As one, they lifted the edges of the Gate. As one they hauled it forward, swooping it at Serth like a net at a butterfly. The dark wizard let out a startled shout as the Gate passed over him.

  And as one, they heaved against the doors, straining to close them before Serth could escape. Deadly light sliced out from the narrowing gap. Something thumped against the other side, shoving them back and away. They moved together, ramming their respective doors with all of their might.

  The Gate, at last, slammed shut.

  “Quick, take the Key out!” the boy cried. Marrill grabbed for the crystal knob, struggling to wrench it free. The doors trembled and shook as Serth banged on them from the other side. If it opened enough to let out even a single ray, she’d be torn apart.

  “Hurry!” the boy cried.

  “Almost…” Marrill grunted. “Got it!”

  She tumbled backward, the crystal Key loose in her hands. Before her eyes, the Gate faded to ink and paper once more. The banging stopped. Marrill fell to her knees, heart pounding.

  The Map curled to the ground. A trail of footprints, seared into the red onyx of the Salt Sand King’s sigil, marked the last place where the Meressian Oracle had stood—on the back of the dragon. The only sounds were the rushing of water, the groaning of the broken Machine, and the smoldering of motion metal.

  She cupped her hand over her pocket, making sure the Wiverwane was still okay. It wriggled beneath the fabric, and she gave it a comforting pat.

  Around her, the chamber of the Wish Machine lay in ruins. Stream water dribbled from above, turning stone into sonatas as it did. Flames flickered on the scorched ground and burnt gears. One of the massive column pipes had sheared in half and lay tilted against the wall. Marrill’s eyes followed the line of footprints back to the steps that had led to the heart of the Syphon of Monerva. The platform where once wishes had been granted was now gone entirely.

  Nothing remained but rent metal, dangling in the air.

  “Did we do it?” the boy asked. He turned the Map over in his hands, peering at it cautiously.

  Marrill scarcely heard him. Over the dripping of pipes and the low flicker of the flames, a strange sound began rising. A bubbling and churning, like a pot getting ready to boil. And it came from the pit full of Stream water.

  Marrill forced herself to her feet. Slowly, she walked toward it, one step at a time. When she reached the rim of the basin, she braced herself. This was where the Master of the Iron Ship had fallen. She’d assumed that took him out of the picture. But then, he’d already survived one dip in the Pirate Stream.

  Cautiously, she leaned out and peered over the edge.

  Down in the basin, the Stream water burbled and rose, like lava in a volcano, and it looked about to blow its top. Which would have been bad enough. But it wasn’t the worst part.

  The worst part was the black skim spreading across the surface of the water.

  “Oh no,” Marrill gasped. “Oh no!”

  “What is it?” someone called from behind her. “It’s bad, isn’t it? Just tell me it’s bad; my mind can fill in the rest.”

  The basin belched again. The gentle, golden hue of the Stream had gone. Now the
re was just the dull, unyielding gleam of iron.

  The walls of the basin grew black and metallic. It crept up them, infecting everything it touched. Fear rose inside her like the black water rising slowly up the pit. The lines from Pickled Pate’s Colloquy came back to her:

  An I seen tha comin’ at creepin’ stride

  O’ tha doom whut fears me.

  O’ tha IRON TIDE

  “It’s the Iron Tide!” she screamed. “Run!”

  She took off toward the tunnel entrance, dodging puddles of Stream water as she went. Panic surged through her. But just as she reached the archway leading out, a sheet of fire exploded to life, driving her back.

  “Not yet,” the popping, growling voice commanded.

  Marrill turned away from the fierce heat. All around, the tiny flames that had flickered across the wrecked chamber now burned with life. Hot air slapped at her skin. It was like being in the desert all over again.

  Her eyes lit on the glowing wish orb where it had rolled to a stop against the wall. The most precious thing in all the Stream, cast off and forgotten.

  Fingers of flame licked up around it. As she watched, they gripped it, lifted it up into the air. Smoke billowed out around it. A figure stepped forward, outlined now in fire and soot. He closed in, carrying the wish toward her.

  But his blue ember eyes were not looking at Marrill. She followed them to a strange boy standing beside her. The boy glanced at her, then back at the burning figure of the Salt Sand King.

  “First, you wish,” the King ordered. He held the wish out to the boy. “Then, my soldier, we will leave together. And all of the Pirate Stream will be ours for the taking.”

  CHAPTER 30

  The Legacy of the Salt Sand King

  Fin stared at the glowing yellow orb. It was nearly filled. And if the Salt Sand King was right, that was plenty powerful enough to grant anything Fin could hope for.

  Anything he dreamed of could be his. Would be his. All he had to do was take it and wish. His palms grew sweaty, fingers shaking with the desire to reach out and snatch it.