Reaping the Aurora

by Joshua Palmatier

  The silence stretched. Sweat broke out in Marc’s armpits, made the back of his neck itch. He knew how to play Armone, had even had run-ins with Trenton and Cerena, but he didn’t know how to handle them all as a group. He didn’t know what the group wanted, which left him at a disadvantage. So he kept silent, let the awkwardness stretch, and kept his eyes on Darius.

  Trenton suddenly leaned forward, his chair creaking. “We’ve been moving forward with your plans, Darius, but the loss of Jonnas and the others puts us in a bind. We won’t be able to distribute the packages as quickly, which means there’s a greater chance of discovery by Ty and the other enforcers, especially now that the Temerites have taken over the abandoned part of the city. If they find even one of the packages—”

  “You’re saying we’re going to need more people,” Darius cut in.

  “Especially within the enforcers. Many of them will follow us as soon as we show we have a stronger hand, but there are few of them we can trust to carry out what needs to be done.”

  Darius’ frown darkened.

  “We can’t leave Father up in that prison any longer, brother,” Dierdre said. “He’s been kept from his followers too long. Who knows what they’ve done to him?”

  “I notice that your own attempts to sway your precious Marcus into freeing him haven’t borne any fruit.”

  “I’ve managed to draw him away from that harlot Kara!”

  “But have you done enough?” Darius faced Dierdre, Marc exhaling in relief as the second’s gaze shifted away. “Will Marcus side with us when the time comes? We will need Wielders, Dierdre, to control the Nexus. We need him more than ever now that Iscivius is effectively useless.”

  Dierdre glared at her brother. “He will side with us,” she said forcefully.

  Yet Marc heard doubt in her voice, saw it flicker in her eyes as Darius turned back to him. The second enforcer drummed his fingers on the table while considering Marc. “Armone’s instincts are usually dead on. We’ll take you on his word. But we’ll be keeping a careful eye on you.”

  “I understand. What is it you need me to do? What are you planning?”

  Darius’ suspicions rose again—Marc could see it in the twitch near the second’s eyelid—but he leaned forward onto the table. “We intend to free Father and retake the Needle from Ty and this upstart Wielder, Kara.”

  Marc didn’t try to hide his surprise. “And how are you going to do that?”

  “Just as we did in Erenthrall—” Dierdre began.

  But Darius cut her off. “You’ve already heard too much. No need for you to hear more until we’re ready to begin . . . or until I’m convinced I can trust you.”

  Marc didn’t respond. But Trenton stepped into what could have been another awkward silence.

  “There is still the issue of when we should plan the attack. If we try to gather everyone together, it will be too obvious that we are about to act, and Ty and the others are already searching for us. They won’t let a gathering like that first riot happen again. We need some other reason for everyone to converge on the square before the temple, something that won’t arouse suspicions.”

  Marc suddenly smiled, the coiled tension in his chest releasing. He leaned forward onto the table from where he stood to catch both Trenton and Darius’ attention.

  “I know the perfect situation,” he said, his voice a soft, confident rumble, “something you’ve obviously not heard about yet.”

  “And what is that?” Darius asked.

  “In three days, the Wielders are going to attempt to heal the distortion over Tumbor.”

  Dierdre gasped, her surprise quickly turning to anger. “You lie! Marcus would have said something to me!”

  Marc pushed back from the table. “Why would I lie about something so easily verified? The Wielders want the attempt to be kept secret, in case it fails. No spectacle, no forewarning.”

  “Then how did you find out about it?” Trenton demanded.

  “I overheard some of them discussing it in the temple halls. In certain places, conversations carry far.”

  “If he’s right, we can use this to bring everyone to the square, both civilian supporters and our own enforcers,” Trenton said. “Everyone will want to be there to witness the healing. We can conceal our movements in the crowds. It’s the perfect distraction.”

  “Unless Kara is successful,” Dierdre said. “If she heals the distortion, it will counter everything Father has said about the Wielders since they seized the Needle.”

  “We’ve already taken care of that,” Darius said. Marc wondered what he meant, but he didn’t elaborate. Instead, he stared down at the table, thinking, one hand spinning an old erren coin distractedly.

  “They obviously want their attempt to be kept secret,” he muttered. “Otherwise, Marcus would have said something to Dierdre. But if no one knows about it, no one will gather . . .”

  He halted the spinning coin with two fingers, snatching it up into his palm.

  “I think it’s time the Wielders’ secret plans come out.”

  “The Gorrani are wiping out everyone left south of Grass,” the Butcher rumbled. He was a hulking man, broad-shouldered and thick, but not with fat, merely dense muscle. He chewed on a piece of meat that the alpha Hound could smell had not come from any animal. “They’ll come for us eventually. They’ve grown vicious since the aurora changed them.”

  Devin stood beside the fireplace in a ransacked room in what had once been the Temerite embassy. The scent of the Matriarch permeated every corner, laced with a medicinal unguent containing aloe and lavender. Even days after the Temerites had fled, he could smell her confidence, her power, in sharp contrast to Devin’s musk.

  Devin rapped his knuckles on the mantel, but didn’t answer.

  The Butcher gnawed on a piece of gristle, then spat it to one side as he rose from the battered settee he’d been resting on. His gaze flicked toward the alpha, then away. “We should send the Hounds after them, before they get here.”

  “Not even the Hounds could kill them all,” Devin said, glancing up. “All it would take was one bite with whatever that venom is they have and the Hounds would be dead.”

  “It would give them pause.”

  “No. I won’t risk the Hounds. I have something else I need them for.”

  “Then what?” the Butcher asked, voice twisted with derision. The alpha noted the lack of respect. Even Devin’s own men were beginning to question him, after he’d lost hundreds in the ley tunnels and only managed to escape the Gorrani attack because the auroral storm had intervened. “Are we simply going to wait for them to attack us here? I didn’t agree to be a part of your little army so that I could cower behind the Temerite walls. You promised us blood. You promised us flesh.”

  The alpha’s nostrils flared at the implied threat, but Devin pushed away from the wall and faced the Butcher square on, even though the man towered nearly a foot over him. “Did you not get flesh? We took out the Temerites who’d been harassing you since the Shattering, didn’t we?”

  The Butcher’s lip curled. “We took their enclave. They escaped.”

  “They’re still gone. Besides, I didn’t take their enclave so that we could settle in here.” He stepped away from the Butcher, picked up a delicate statue from a nearby table that had somehow survived the seizure of the embassy, then tossed it to the floor where it shattered. “This was only one step on a long journey. We needed the supplies they had stored here.”

  “For what?”

  “For the real goal. You want flesh? I know a place where there’s plenty, and the Hounds are our ticket in.”

  “Where?” he asked suspiciously. The Butcher was ponderous, but he wasn’t stupid.

  “The Needle. Erenthrall has become too dangerous. We need someplace safer, a place easier to defend. The Needle has it all.”

  The alpha’s
ears twitched as the Butcher considered. He could hear the manipulation beneath the façade of truth. Devin didn’t care about taking the Needle; he only wanted to see it—and those inside—destroyed.

  He huffed in contempt. He could no longer think of Devin as a Baron, as his master, but there was no one else here who he could respect, who he could follow. What could he do? His two betas were on the verge of disobeying their commands, but who would they follow? There was no handler anymore.

  The Butcher stirred. “I’ve heard snake meat is tough and stringy. Let the Gorrani have Erenthrall.”

  Devin grinned and the alpha’s hackles rose as the so-called Baron turned to face his Hound. “Call your betas,” he commanded. “I have a job for them.”

  The alpha’s body trembled with the struggle between training and disobedience. In the end, training won.

  He bowed his head to hide his snarl and asked, “What are our orders?”

  Eleven

  “HOW DID THEY FIND OUT?” Kara demanded, her voice echoing in the high ceiling of the Needle’s node. Out of the corner of her eye, she caught some of the other Wielders turning in her direction—Okata, Carter, and Jenner. She was certain the others situated behind her were looking as well. She’d spoken louder than she’d intended, but Ty’s news had startled her.

  She lowered her voice. “How in hells did the people find out, Ty? We haven’t told anyone except those within the council.”

  Ty grimaced, but waved a hand around the node. “And the Wielders. And the University students. Don’t forget them.”

  Kara swore, glaring around at the others. All of them studiously returned to their manipulations of the ley and the crystals, practicing for their attempt at healing Tumbor, now only two days away. Except for Okata. The Gorrani Wielder met her gaze and asked a question with his eyes. She pressed her lips into a thin line but shook her head, and he returned to work.

  “I can’t believe one of them—” she began, but broke off and spun toward Ty. “Irmona.”

  “Did you tell her?”

  “No. I left her out of the loop on purpose. I don’t trust her not to sabotage our attempt in some way. But one of the other Wielders probably told her after our initial planning session.” She bit her lower lip, a sudden wave of dread sweeping through her. She swore. “I wanted to do this without any fanfare, in case something went wrong and we’re forced to halt the attempt. Maybe we should postpone it.”

  “You could, but I don’t think that’s wise.”

  “Why not?”

  “Because for the past few weeks the mood of those outside the temple has been dark. It’s not only about the fact that we haven’t let Dalton speak, although his followers are the ones stoking the embers. They’re able to rile everyone up because there’s already a general sense of discontent.”

  “If there’s one thing I’ve learned since ostensibly taking over the rule of this city,” Kara said cynically, “it’s that there’s always a low level of discontent, no matter how bad or good the situation is.”

  “True, but this discontent has been growing, with Father Dalton and his vision as the focus. It’s risen mostly unchecked. Until now. Once I heard that the Wielders’ plans were being mentioned on the street, I went into the city to investigate. The news is everywhere, on almost every street corner, spoken of in every tent I passed. Everyone—from gossipmonger to enforcer—is excited about it. They want to see the distortion over Tumbor fall. Right now, it’s a constant reminder that the world is broken. They may be able to forget about it briefly by hiding behind the Needle’s walls, but it’s still there the moment they leave and look up, a bright shiny blemish on the horizon.”

  “Healing the distortion over Tumbor won’t return us to life as it was before the Shattering.”

  “But it will get rid of a constant and blatant reminder that the world is still messed up. Don’t forget that is one of Dalton’s central attacks on you and the Wielders: that you haven’t managed to repair the ley system yet.”

  “Neglecting to point out that we haven’t had a significant quake since we took over.” She sighed in resignation. “So what are you suggesting, then?”

  “Now that they know you’re going to make an attempt, they’re going to converge on the temple or the outer walls in an uncontrolled mob, all trying to score the best seats in the city facing Tumbor.”

  “You’re afraid there will be another riot, like before.”

  “It didn’t take much to ignite the last group, and it’s only grown more volatile since then. I’m certain Dalton’s followers will be in the crowds, trying to incite another angry mob. They’ll be able to do it easily if the enforcers aren’t there to regulate matters.”

  “Regulate them how?”

  “We’ll set up specific areas for viewing—sections of the steps on the temple, along some of the plazas on each tier, open up part of the wall’s parapet so that people can stand and watch the distortion from there. We’ll keep everyone in line by having enforcers everywhere.”

  Kara couldn’t help flashing back to memories of the launch of the Baron’s flyers in Seeley Park and the sowing of the central flyers’ tower in Grass—the frenetic excitement of the crowds, its infectious thrill in her younger self’s blood, the accelerated rush of her heart in her ears. Now that she thought about it, there hadn’t been a moment like that since before the Shattering. It had all been pain and terror and uncertainty as the world fluctuated around them.

  Perhaps it was time for something like this: a spectacle to draw all of those who had survived together.

  Ty remained silent while she mulled it over.

  “Go ahead with it,” she said. “But I don’t have time to help out. Talk to Hernande and Allan about it. I’m certain they’ll have suggestions.”

  Ty moved toward the stairs leading up out of the pit. Kara watched him for a moment, worry niggling at her. She didn’t relish having an audience for their attempt, but at this point it couldn’t be helped.

  She turned and stalked toward Okata, calling out, “Word about what we’re doing has leaked out into the city. Everyone gather around. We can no longer afford any mistakes, since everyone in the Needle is going to be watching.” She ushered the Wielders into a small group. As she looked into each of their faces, she couldn’t help feeling a small surge of excitement, almost like what she’d felt when her father had taken her to see the sowing when she was twelve. “Everyone’s going to have to have someone in support, someone to leap in if something goes wrong, either to take over your position, or to lend you strength if you begin to flag. I don’t know how long it will take to heal the distortion. Marcus will be backing me up. Okata, you and Artras will be anchoring the flow from Erenthrall. We’ll be drawing on the reservoir of ley beneath the city there, shunting it to the reservoirs that Jerrain, Hernande, and the other University students will be holding for us here. The rest of you need to keep the crystals locked in position and keep the flows from the other ley lines stable and shunt the ley in the reservoirs to wherever it’s needed in Tumbor. Jenner, I’ll pair you with Carter. You’ll handle the line from the Hollow . . .”

  “This is Hernande, one of the surviving mentors from the University, along with Cory, one of his students,” Allan said. “You know Marcus, of course. And this is my daughter Morrell and her guardian Drayden, who used to be one of the Wolves.”

  The Matriarch of the Temerite enclave, now ensconced in the abandoned section of the Needle on the far side of the chasm, tilted her head slightly in acknowledgment of the introductions, her gaze fixed on Morrell and Drayden. “Please have a seat. It is a pleasure to meet you all.”

  The Temerites had taken control of ten square blocks of what remained of the outer circle of buildings within the broken walls of the Needle. When Allan and his group had arrived, they’d been met by Captain Lienta and Lieutenant Boskell at what had obviously become the outer defense of the Tem
erites. Rather than using the cracked and crumbling remains of the city wall, they’d secured a section in the city and were using the profusion of stone to wall up the streets and buildings around the enclave, much like what they’d done in Erenthrall, using the chasm as a natural barrier on one side. Lienta had led Allan’s group through the streets, the surrounding buildings already being repaired, the windows lit with light from ley globes and lanterns, the mixture of white and flickering yellow strangely soothing. A few of the ley globes near the street flickered or dimmed when Allan came too close. Those Temerites on the streets nodded to Allan respectfully, staring at those with him they didn’t recognize. Allan could tell from their expressions that they had not settled in completely, distrustful of those from the Needle. Their postures were guarded, movements tentative, even here within the rooms the Matriarch had claimed.

  The building had once been a large mercantile house, the outer chamber’s floor cracked white-gray marble flecked with green, the room open to two stories with columns up to the ceiling on both sides of the hall. Not as grand as the larger houses in Erenthrall before the Shattering, but still impressive. The Temerite guards had set up their operations on tables scavenged from the surrounding buildings, between the columns. The Matriarch had taken over the back rooms.

  Allan settled into a chair that creaked with age, a pillow on top serving as a cushion. All except Drayden settled in around him in similar seats, the Matriarch situated behind her own table draped with cloth, its top littered with papers, an inkpot, quill, and a small stone serving as a paperweight. She was dressed as Allan had first seen her—the blocked tans and whites of Temer nobility, a few rings, a gold necklace—although during the journey from Erenthrall he had seen her in less formal clothing with vivid blues and greens that spoke of the livelier spirit he now knew lay beneath. Her aide, Janote, stood behind her, Lienta and Boskell taking up positions there as well, while servants appeared carrying trays of small sweet breads or pitchers of water or kaffe with a set of cups. Allan took a kaffe, surprised that the delicate cup had survived the trek from Erenthrall.