People of the City

by Marshall Ryan Maresca

  “And your body is pressed on top of mine,” the Thorn said. “I mean, I’m flattered, but . . .”

  “We’re lucky to not be dead, and you make jokes.”

  “I can assure you, I wouldn’t if we were dead.”

  Absurdity.

  “Can you move at all?” Dayne asked him. “We need to find a way out of this.”

  “Right now, I’m focused on keeping us from being crushed,” he said.

  “My shield is doing that.”

  “No, your shield is helping,” the Thorn said. “I used it to envelope us in magic, which is probably why we aren’t dead.”

  “So can you magic us out?” Dayne asked.

  “It’s all a bit delicate. I didn’t want to get started until we assessed the situation. Like who I’m dealing with.”

  “Who am I dealing with?”

  “I asked you first, pal.”

  “Very mature,” Dayne said.

  “Well, few people accused me of being otherwise.”

  Dayne sighed. “You’re called the Thorn, apparently?”

  “So you have heard of me.”

  “I heard Gurond call you that.”

  The Thorn shook his head. “I don’t know how he knew that. He . . .”

  “He knew you. How?”

  “I’ve never seen that monster before,” the Thorn said. “I have no idea.”

  “Surely—”

  “Look, an hour ago I thought you were the giant taking the kids, so let’s not dig that useless hole.”

  “How could you think a Tarian—”

  “There is nothing that surprises me anymore,” the Thorn said. “So, great Tarian who does not kidnap children, who are you?”

  “Dayne!” Hemmit’s voice could be heard through the rubble. “Dayne, are you there?”

  “So, it’s Dayne,” the Thorn said.

  “Yes,” Dayne said. He called out to Hemmit. “Are you all right?”

  “I’m not under the rock, if that’s what you’re asking,” Hemmit replied. “I heard the ruckus and came over, but I’m not in great shape right now.”

  The Thorn called out, “Do you see a giant creature, nine feet tall with oily gray skin? Answers to Gurond?”

  “What?” Hemmit said. “I only see this pile of rock covering half the room.”

  “Well, if we’re lucky, Gurond buried himself in the collapse,” the Thorn said. “If we’re not, he’s out and about in the hallways.”

  “Hush,” Dayne said. His heartbeat was going faster, and his whole body felt cold and clammy, and he could only see the Thorn’s stupid, cocky face. “We have . . .” He couldn’t breathe. “We have . . .” He couldn’t hold the panic in any longer, and screamed.

  “Hey, hey, Dayne,” the Thorn said. “Easy, big guy. My magic is keeping us from being crushed but you’re still doing a lot of the work. And pretty soon you’ll be doing all of it. So keep your head on.”

  “Dayne?” Hemmit called.

  “Hey, friend,” the Thorn called out. “What are we looking at here? You said half the room is buried. So half isn’t. You can walk around?”

  “Yes,” Hemmit said.

  “You happen to see any bits of us? Feet or cloth sticking out of the rubble? Maybe a rope?”

  “Nothing,” Hemmit said. “How many passages were there out of here?”

  “Six!” Dayne shouted. Saying that word took every ounce of will he had.

  “Looks like one is completely covered by the cave-in. Another is mostly covered. Then four more.”

  The Thorn closed his eyes. “All right, the one the kid ran down is one of the blocked ones. Hopefully not the same one Gurond went down.”

  The boy. Dayne remembered. “We have to get that boy safe. If Gurond—”

  “Yeah,” the Thorn said. “Can you move at all?”

  Dayne shook his head.

  “All right, brace yourself, Dayne. I’m going to reach a bit to my right. I think my rope is still there.”

  “What good is a rope going to—”

  “This rope, plenty,” the Thorn said. His hand moved, sliding past Dayne’s chest. “If I can get it, it might make all the difference.”

  “Magic,” Dayne said.

  “Right,” the Thorn said. He inched his hand over a bit more. “Got it.”

  Suddenly a snake ran up Dayne’s body. The last bits of self-control fell apart, and Dayne shouted. He dropped his arm and collapsed entirely on the Thorn. The rocks fell as well, and they were surely crushed—

  But they weren’t. They had shot out through the rubble into the passageway, wrapped together in the rope. The rope uncoiled from them and Dayne pulled himself off, getting to his feet.

  The Thorn stayed on the ground, panting and heaving.

  “Are you—” Dayne started.

  “Took—a—lot . . . too fast . . .”

  Dayne looked about. They were in the passage that had been fully blocked by the cave-in. “Hemmit! Can you hear me?”

  “I can!” Hemmit said. “It looked like the pile collapsed. Are you clear?”

  “Clear but trapped. Unless we can move this stone . . .” He looked to the Thorn. Maybe he could magic it to get them out.

  The Thorn shook his head. He crawled over to the wall and propped himself up against it. “That would take a lot, and I don’t have that much left in me. Not if I want to be ready for another round with Gurond.”

  “We’re stuck in this tunnel,” Dayne called to Hemmit. “The boy—”

  “Went down the other way,” Thorn said. He dug into one of his pockets and pulled out a sandwich wrapped in cloth. “Good thing I came prepared.”

  “You’re going to eat?” Dayne asked.

  “I have to,” Thorn said, taking a greedy bite.

  “Makes sense,” Hemmit called from outside. “You say there’s a boy down the blocked passage?”

  “Yeah,” the Thorn said.

  “It’s Vollingale’s son,” Dayne said.

  “Hey, kid,” Hemmit called. “Er . . . your grace? Are you all right?”

  “Go away!”

  The Thorn gingerly pulled himself up to his feet. “Hey, kid, you know what?”

  “Go away!”

  “Hemmit, can you get to him?” Dayne asked.

  “No, but maybe he can get through there if he’s small.”

  “Kid,” The Thorn said. “Guess what day it is?”

  “Shut it!”

  “It’s two days to Terrentin. Just two days. I bet you’re going to get all sorts of gifts at home.”

  Silence for a moment. “I wanna go home.”

  “I bet,” the Thorn called out. “Do you know the story of Saint Terrence? Why we give gifts on Terrentin?”

  “No.”

  “Terrence was a toymaker in his village. He made toys for all the children in his village, but one day a horrible warlord abducted the children, and brought them to work in his mines. They were trapped underground. Just like you!”

  “I don’t want to be trapped.”

  “I know, but Terrence, he was smart, because he was a builder. He knew that if it rained, the mines would flood, so the warlord would have to open the gates, and then the children could be free. So, he prayed for rain, and the rains came. But the warlord still didn’t open the gates. He refused. So Terrence went into the mines himself, through the flooding tunnels, to open the gates, and the children were free. He yelled to the children, Rejoice, Rejoice, for you are free!”

  “And what happened to him?” the boy asked. “Did he get out?”

  “They say he closed the gates again, to trap the warlord, and he held him down there to drown.”

  “So he drowned too?”

  “No one knows,” the Thorn said. “But two nights later, the people in the village wok
e to find toys next to every child’s bed, and wet footprints in the room. And some say, in those mines, you can still hear him call.”

  “Rejoice! Rejoice! Rejoice!” Hemmit called out.

  “He’s here!” the boy shouted. They could hear a scramble of rock and stone.

  “I’ve got you,” Hemmit said. “You’re safe.”

  “Hemmit, you’ve got to get him out of here,” Dayne called. “We’ll find another way around.”

  “How?” Hemmit asked.

  The Thorn spoke up. “You take that passage to the left of the one he was in, and you follow it down about a quarter of a mile. You’ll reach a junction with a chalk mark on the wall. You should be able to follow chalk marks all the way to a sewer exit in Seleth. And if you find a fellow named Rynax—”

  “Asti or Verci?” Hemmit asked.

  That startled the Thorn. “Asti. You tell him the Thorn is going for the giant.”

  “Dayne, what about everyone else?”

  “I won’t leave them down here,” Dayne said. “But you’re hurt and that boy needs to get home. Take care of that.”

  “All right,” Hemmit said. “Come on, son. Let’s get you home for Terrentin.”

  The sound of their feet receded in the distance.

  “You have others down here?” the Thorn asked. “I know there’s more than just one kid.”

  “Other children, other friends,” Dayne said. “I don’t know about you, but I’m not leaving without every single one of them.”

  “What a coincidence,” the Thorn said, the shadow of his cloak covering his face again. The rope coiled up at his belt, and he took up his bow. “I feel exactly the same way.”

  Chapter 14

  “BLESSED BE THE NINE!” THE crowd called. “Blessed be their High Dragon, Crenaxin!”

  From her place at the back of the crowd, Jerinne was not the focus of anyone’s attention, thankfully. Else they would have noticed that she was not calling out with the rest of them.

  Under her bloody robe, her fingers were wrapped around the hilt of her sword, so tight she could feel the blood pooling in them. She couldn’t make herself loosen her grip. If these zealots noticed her, if they went for her, she wouldn’t have a chance. There were easily a hundred of them. She kept her eye on the exits, noting how many robed figures were between her and escape, should things go wrong.

  Crenaxin stepped away from the altar and the corpse, looking out to the crowd. “We must call him back, and for that, we must feed the fervent fire.”

  “The fire must burn!”

  “Who will step forward?” Crenaxin asked. “Who will take their place in the furnace of the world? Who will burn for the Nine? Someone must feed the fervent fire so . . .” He turned to one of the other men. “What was his name?”

  “Poller,” the man said. “Ren Poller.”

  “So that Ren can be called. So he can share with us his final secrets.”

  One of the people from the crowd—one of the misshapen grotesques—came forward. They knelt at Crenaxin’s feet.

  “Worthy soul,” Crenaxin said, placing his hand on their head. “You have already sacrificed so much, being a vessel for the great and terrible power. You were broken, but your faith is strong.” Crenaxin knelt down next to the beast. “I am humbled by your courage. I wish that you were enough, dear friend.” One hand still cradling the creature’s face, he reached out to the crowd. “I need more, please.”

  Three more stepped forward, all reaching out and putting their hands on Crenaxin.

  “Thank you,” he said, tears falling from his eyes. “I will hold on to this, dear friends.” He touched each of them, kissed them on the head, and then walked slowly to the altar.

  As he approached the corpse, his body started to glow, like the last embers of a fire when blown upon. The glow filled his arms, and as it did, the four creatures on the altar began to smolder.

  They all screamed as smoke poured off their bodies. One of them held up their arm to the air, and Jerinne watched in horror as it turned gray and ashen, and then crumbled into dust.

  They all crumbled into dust, and the smoke that had poured off their bodies pooled and swirled around the altar, and then flew high in the air before jetting down Crenaxin’s throat.

  Crenaxin’s skin swirled with light and color, as if a raging inferno burned underneath it. He bent back his head and opened his mouth impossibly wide, and then leaned forward to the corpse.

  Fire spewed from his mouth, engulfing the body.

  Jerinne screamed.

  So did the rest of the congregation, but theirs were in elation and ecstasy. Jerinne dug her fingers into the hilt of her sword, hoping the feel of the weapon in her hand could stop the trembling fear in her body.

  Crenaxin dropped to his knees, coughing and weeping.

  Then the dead man started coughing. The flames cooled down and ebbed, then died down completely. The dead man coughed and jerked, and the two robed figures on the dais rushed over and helped him to his feet.

  The dead man stood. His head was still caved in, and his eyes were cold and glassy.

  But he stood.

  Jerinne’s heart hammered so hard, she heard only the thunder of her pulse in her ears.

  Crenaxin got to his feet. “Ren Poller,” he said quietly. “We drag you from your rest. You have something to tell us.”

  “The . . . statue . . .” Poller said, his voice sounding like it had been scraped against a stone.

  “Where is it?” one of the robed figures asked. “Where can we find it?”

  “Essin . . .” he said. “Essin . . . killed me.”

  “The thief we hired, High Dragon,” the robed figure said.

  Crenaxin nodded. “And where would Essin go? Where do we find him?”

  “He . . .” Poller’s face twisted into a mockery of thought. “He would hide.”

  “Where?”

  “Nowhere for him,” Poller said. “Every safe hole . . . gone.”

  “Ren, please,” Crenaxin said, touching the man’s face gently. Jerinne fought the urge to retch—the man’s head still oozed blood and pus. “If he had nowhere else to go, where would he hide? Who would he seek?”

  Poller’s dead eyes looked at Crenaxin, and his face turned into a horrific sneer. “Rynax. Essin . . . always liked him too much.”

  “And where is Rynax?”

  “Gadgeterium,” Poller said. “Let me . . . let me . . .”

  “You can rest now,” Crenaxin said.

  “Let me go there,” Poller said. “Let me kill them.”

  Crenaxin stepped away, a broad smile on his face. “Oh, dear brothers, hear that? Even from beyond death, he serves with faith and loyalty! Who else will serve? Who will go with him, and reclaim that which is ours? Nearly the last piece we need?”

  Hands went high in the air.

  “No, my troubled ones,” he said to some of the grotesques. “The world above is not ready for you, not yet. Very soon.” He pointed to a few of the humans. “Go with Poller. Get the statue. The time is ripe and we are nearly ready to crack—”

  A loud boom echoing through the congregation chamber interrupted him, as one of the walls of twisted vines exploded in blue flame. As it burned away, it revealed two people not in robes, and for a moment Jerinne’s heart leaped, hoping it was Maresh and Lin. Or Dayne. Or anyone she could call a friend.

  And it was, at least one of them. She didn’t know the dark-skinned girl with the sword, but the man—mad, impossible as it was—was Inspector Welling. His hand was engulfed in blue fire, and his face was filled with rage.

  “I will not abide!” he shouted as he raised up his crossbow with his other hand. “Stand and be held in the name of the law!”

  Crenaxin simply laughed. “He amuses me. Kill the girl, but take him alive.”

  Immediately,
the congregation swarmed at Minox Welling and the girl. With all these zealots and beasts between her and them, Jerinne was incapable of helping them before they were overrun.

  Still, she drew out her sword. She would be damned if she didn’t try.

  Minox had lost control.

  His temper flared at seeing this unholy madness, and he lost control. His hand had surged with magic, destroying the wall they had been hiding behind. Exposed, and still full of anger, he did the only thing he knew to do.

  “I will not abide!” he shouted as he raised up his crossbow. “Stand and be held in the name of the law!” He doubted these beasts and malefactors would respect the rule of law, but by Saint Veran, he would at least honor the words.

  Crenaxin laughed, hollow and empty. “He amuses me. Kill the girl, but take him alive.”

  The beasts and zealots charged at him.

  His hand was still full of magic, pulsing and screaming to be set free, so let it. He slammed his fist onto the ground, quaking the floor in a wave of force that knocked them all down.

  He was about to tell Miss Nell to run, but she had proved adept at determining that course of action on her own. He raced right behind her, his hand now eased down to just a throbbing blue glow. He was amazed that Olivant thought he could destroy the city, when that knock alone had been enough to leave him nearly spent.

  “Get back to the tunnel!” she shouted. She ran with her sword in hand, which was probably not the wisest decision, but proved useful when one zealot leaped into her path. She hacked at him with more power than skill, but it was sufficient to discourage his further pursuit.

  “My thought exactly,” he said. He pivoted in his sprint, firing his crossbow at the closest zealot. He shot true, taking that one down, but that left several dozen still. He spun back to resume his stride, hoping they could beat their pursuers, either with speed or endurance.

  He feared he did not have enough of either.

  “I can’t believe . . . you actually . . . told them to stand . . .”

  Minox struggled to reload his crossbow as he ran. It would hardly make a difference, but he would at least make the attempt.

  “They’re going for the Blue Tunnel!” someone shouted. “Get the gate!”