by L. W. Jacobs
Then he noticed waves in the crowd of pilgrims below, like the plaza facing the old city was a still pond struck with a stone. Only some of the drops of water at the crest of each wave flew up instead of falling.
Tai realized what was happening just as Marea gasped beside him. The pilgrims were wafting, but they weren’t doing it one at a time. They were wafting en masse, arms pointing to him in the sky, waves of power rolling through the crowd and pushing them into the air. They wanted to get through as badly as he did.
So when Tai turned to come at the wafting Titans again, he wasn’t alone. Thirty or forty wide-eyed pilgrims wafted in the air all around him, and if they looked amazed and moved awkwardly, their eyes were determined. Below them more kept rising up.
“Forward!” Tai shouted, forgetting to use Yersh in his excitement, but when he shot forward the wafters nearest him followed, like ripples spreading in the wake of a fast boat. And still they were rebuffed, Marea’s luck and their bigger numbers not enough to get through the swirling mass of Titans.
Tai circled back but the wafters around him pressed on, singing, their eyes locked on the waystone. Titans flew to meet them, weapons doing deadly work, but everywhere their blood rained the crowd rose up, a wave as thick as those still on the ground. Tai slowed for a moment, awestruck at the sight of hundreds or thousands of people rising into the air.
“They just needed you,” Ella yelled in his ear. “Needed to see a way through!”
And to his left Marea yelled, “Go! I got this!”
He went, circling again and rushing for the floating line of Titans, which was now a swirling mass of silver soldiers chasing pilgrims of all colors, spears flashing and blood flying but sheer numbers of the faithful overwhelming the Titan’s training, people breaking through on all sides and shooting over the old city’s walls, toward the waystone that rose like a beacon in the distance.
Tai shot straight through them, trusting Marea, having seen what she could do, straight toward a pair of Titans skewering a raven-haired pilgrim. Their battle broke apart at the last second and Tai flew past, bodies and soldiers falling all around them, the air a mix of song and scream.
Then they were out of the storm, moat flashing by below them, over the line of whitecoats and into the old city, part of a flying wave of pilgrims. For one glorious moment Tai felt like a wagull in a massive flock, eyes locked on the stone, flying toward the goal they had sought for so long.
Then lightning arced from the roof of a shrine in the old city. Blinding blue bolts branched upwards, and each one found a pilgrim. The struck bodies flew up in the air, only to plunge smoking toward the buildings below.
“Shamans!” Ella yelled, but Tai was already dropping them toward the steep-roofed shrines and winding streets of the old city, more bolts erupting from the roofs around them.
All the glory he’d felt collapsed in fear. They’d broken through a wall of the Councilate’s best wafters, but the battle was far from over, and he had no idea how to fight the enemies waiting ahead.
55
It is said the last emperor knew of Shatterbrook’s plans, and had a series of hidden gates and tunnels built offering quick escape from the city. A few of these are known, such as the Rose Gate in Easthampton, but residents are always willing to show you a few more if you pass them the right shade of coin. For those interested, ask around at the Selenry Fountain.
—Arenia Melthesan, A Walking History of Aran
It was a piss of a thing to whip around the sky clinging to another man’s back like a helpless babe. Feynrick swung his axe where he could, managed to dent a few helms maybe, but mostly had to cling to Avery for dear life and try not to yelp like a lost puppy when the Titans got too close.
So it was a relief when lightning bolts started shooting from the ground, because the lad had to stop wafting. As much uai juice as was pumping through him, Feynrick felt like he could fight lightning bolts or ninespears or whatever they needed to—just put his barking feet on the ground. Let the milkweed do the wafting if someone had to.
They came down in a moss-covered shrine, air a thunderstorm around them, ozone in his nose. “Good work, lad,” he yelled over the noise, clapping Avery on the shoulder.
Boys his age, they needed to be told they’d done good. Craved it.
Avery gave him a funny look back. “You too, Feynrick.”
Something hot and fiery roared over their heads and some people screamed. A body hit a roof next door and clay tiles exploded outward like a melon hitting a pile of rotting rinds. Tai and the girls were crouched in the lee of a carved-up thing ahead and they ran for it, Feynrick keeping an eye out for lightning bolts.
“Praise me, Marrey,” he muttered as they ran, “if I get out of this I’m hanging up these axes. I swear it.”
Tai and the girls looked as shook as he felt. He offered them all a grin—no reason to let spirits lag. Going to die, you die with a grin, his old man used to say.
“What do we do?” Ella yelled, poor lady looking a decade older than she had.
“Run for it,” Feynrick yelled back, eyeing pilgrims streaming overhead. “These flyers ain’t going to last for long, but figure we got a clear run at the stone while they do.”
They all shared that glance he remembered from tight spots, the piss-dogs-this-ain’t-what-I-want-to-do-but-got-to-do-it-anyway-I-guess and if-we-all-get-out-of-this-I’m-buying-you-a-mug-of-dreamtea kind of look.
Then they ran, leaping carts and dodging bodies and smashing axes into old statues just to see ‘em burst apart. Least, that’s what he did cause piss on it if they were all gonna die he might as well enjoy himself, right?
Or maybe that was the buzz—brawling always felt good, but he hadn’t felt this high since he almost died breaking through the Newgen gates and came back to life again. Like his uai was the world’s strongest plug of dreamtea and he’d just swallowed the whole thing.
The girls hung back so Feynrick started clearing a path for ‘em, shattering the sloppy barricades across the road and looking through the windows to make sure no lightning-throwers were waiting there for him.
He missed one though, and a flash of light bright enough to leave his eyes watering told him his mistake. The thunder that followed about left him deaf in one ear but he spun, following the blue trace-lines in his eyes back to a little rooftop where a middle-aged man stood with his arms up.
Turned out shamans died as easy as anybody else, if they weren’t looking for you. Feynrick leapt the two stories and took the man’s head off his shoulders with Egwen.
“Good work, girl,” he said, jumping off the roof and jogging back to see what the damage was. That was another reason he’d have to hang up his axes, is they were named after his former mistresses, and if Marrem ever found out she’d have his head.
He was ready for some burning bodies instead of friends, but they were all standing there staring at Avery like he was some kinda Ascending God.
“Killed him,” Feynrick called, just to make sure they realized he’d done the important part. “Should be good.”
“How did you—” Ella was stammering.
“Temporary uai grounding,” Avery was saying, or something like that, looking pretty proud of himself.
Rotting ninespear, stealing the show. “So we keep running then?” Feynrick said, nodding toward the waystone sticking up above the next line of fancy roofs and statues.
The milkweed eyed the sky. “Pilgrims are thinning out.”
“Best make time while we can then,” Feynrick said. “I’ll keep a better watch.”
They all shared another of those well-boarscock-I-guess-so looks and ran. He kept a better eye this time, and pulled ‘em back a few seconds before another flash and thunder hit and Avery did something that made a hole in the road.
“I’ve got this one,” the lad said, and shot something out of his hands that didn’t really look like thunder or lightning, but made somebody scream a few stories up.
Feynrick whistled.
“Whyn’t you do that the first time?”
“It’s not easy,” the lad said, sounding winded. “And every time I do it makes it easier for the other shamans to find us.”
Feynrick glanced at the sky again. Most all of the pilgrims were gone, but his blood was up and his uai felt like it would last for days. And at this rate, when he dropped it the breaks were like to kill him anyway. “Best to keep going then. We stop here and they’ll come to us.”
They kept going but slower, Avery waving them back at every intersection to do some shaman thing at the buildings around them.
Then he missed one, and it was only dumb luck they didn’t get hit with the fireball that came in a little crooked and torched the eight-roofed shrine to their left. Or maybe not dumb luck, judging from the way Marea grinned at it. The girl was getting good. Dogs, but he could have used her ability back in his women-chasing days. Avery sent another one of his not-spears through a building and grunted, so it must have worked.
They went even slower then, creeping around the blasted remains of what looked like a lot of battles already fought. Feynrick’s buzz screamed at him to just run, to go kill and destroy, but his common sense said the lad probably knew better.
And he did, because a couple of shattered fountains closer in he waved them all to stop, and started looking like he was thinking really hard about something. Feynrick glanced at the milkweed, who gave him a shrug, then Avery started coughing like someone was choking him but still staring real hard. Feynrick was about to give him a hard slap on the back when they heard a pop and thud from the building behind them, and Avery straightened up.
“Visceror,” he panted, whatever that meant. “A nasty one.”
“Is there a better way we should be doing this?” Tai asked. “Maybe one of us go ahead?”
“You’re not scatting leaving me, Tai Kulga,” Ella barked, sounding as old and sharp-tongued as she looked. Genitors, did her personality age along with her body?
“I can’t protect everyone if we split up,” Avery said. “If we just go slowly enough, we’ll be okay.”
The pilgrims were all out of the sky, blasted down or got to the stone most likely. Feynrick rubbed at his beard. “Siege of Elsrock we had to fight house to house in the end,” he said. “My officer wanted us to clear the street, but I knew he was full of rot so me and Gondlen took the houses. Crept up on more than one straggler that way.”
“Took the houses?” Ella asked. “But didn’t you still have to use the streets to get in and out?”
She was a smart lady, but book smarts weren’t everything. Feynrick showed her what he meant with Egwen and Nynae, bashing a hole in the side of a carved-up old shrine then waving her through.
“Ah,” she said, eyeing the shattered wood like it was somebody’s mother. But she went through and so did the others, and that worked for a while, chopping house to house and Avery doing his careful-looking thing every time they had to cross a street.
Meanwhile the stone kept getting bigger and closer behind the buildings, glittering like somebody’d dumped fish scales on it. Feynrick stopped to whistle at it when they were crossing the next street, partially to keep the girls from looking at the scatter of bodies laying where they’d fallen in the street.
“Rotting boarscock,” he said, looking up at the thing. “You think they—”
Big flash of light and a thunderclap and Avery was standing there over another smoking hole.
“Musta missed one,” Feynrick tried to say, but his ears were ringing too loud, and then there was another flash and clap and he came to on his bottom and there was a new smoking hole by his feet and somebody was wafting towards them.
Feynrick leapt up pulling Nynae but something kicked him like a mad goat and after the flash there was only black.
56
Tai watched with gritted teeth as two shamans closed on them from above, sending bolt after bolt at them. Avery managed to deflect the bolts into the ground, but each time the smoking hole was closer, the stocky man paler, the fear in Tai’s throat stronger. Feynrick was down, Marea wept, and Avery knelt with his hands held up almost as if to ward off a blow.
“What do we do?” Ella screamed, sound echoing like it came through a long tunnel.
“Grab onto me!” Tai yelled after the next roar, striking his resonance. He could save her at least, get them—
Two bolts struck simultaneously and Avery screamed, the hair on his head smoking, the red-hot holes just a pace away from him on either side.
This was not how it ended. Not like this. Ella grabbed and Tai pushed up, knowing the shamans would strike him down, knowing it was stupid but needing to do something.
He shot for the space under the nearer shaman, hoping it would take the man time to turn, to re-aim, and the shaman’s back arched, then doubled over. He fell to the ground.
Tai turned, too surprised even in his haste not to look. The man lay where he’d fallen, dead. On the far side of the group the other shaman did the same, dropping two paces to the ground to flop like a beheaded blackfish. Dead.
And in their place, striding into the street like he owned it, was an unassuming Seinjialese man, black hair bound in a simple band. He crouched over the first body, pressing a finger to its wrist, then the second, then laid his hands on Feynrick.
Tai made a quick calculation. Try to fly out of here and they were almost certainly dead from one shaman or another. But this man had killed the shamans attacking them, and he didn’t seem like he wanted them dead, no matter how powerful he was.
He wafted back, just as Feynrick jerked his head back and gasped, eyes wide. But alive, praise the ancestors. He was still alive.
The man looked up. “Get to shelter. There. Take Feynrick.”
Tai stared, despite the tension of the moment. How did he know Feynrick’s name? Ella gave a soft gasp too, as though in recognition, but there was no time. Not with other shamans around. Mindsight. It had to be.
Tai helped a struggling Feynrick to the fire-charred building the man had pointed to, Ella running to Marea as Avery dragged himself to his feet and followed.
The man came last, backing in and watching the skies.
“I know him,” Ella whispered as he approached. “I remember his face—”
“One of the workers,” Marea said. “From the Wanderer.”
The Yati waystone? A worker? That made no sense.
The man finished backing in and closed the door behind him then turned, afternoon light filtering in through holes shattered in the wood ceiling above. “There. We should be safe here.”
“Who are you?” Tai asked, not striking resonance, knowing it would do little against someone this powerful, but readying himself all the same.
The man gave a sardonic grin. “Do you not remember me?”
There was something familiar in his voice. Not the voice even, but the tone of voice. Tai squinted, trying to make out what it was.
“You were at the stone,” Marea said. “The last stone. The brewer! You served me lager.”
“Yes,” the man said, looking displeased. “I suppose I did. Or this body did anyway. And you got too drunk and nearly gave us away.”
“This body?” Tai asked. What did that even mean?
Ella sucked in a breath. “Nauro?”
He smiled, and Tai recognized it, that world-weary smile he’d seen so many times. It had just been on another man’s face. “Nauro?” he repeated. “I saw you—”
“Die? Yes, in a sense. My body did die. But revenants are harder to kill.”
“You’re—a revenant?” Marea asked, gaping at the man.
“No, fool girl. I am a body and a spirit, same as you. This body just happened to have a different spirit once, and then I came and convinced him that my revenant should be in control. And now he’s a voice in my head.” Nauro grinned, looking pleased with himself.
Ella was frowning beside him. “You—overtook your host?”
“Like Naveinya tried to do to me,” Tai
said. “Like a hermit. But you actually did it?”
“I got lucky,” Nauro said, “and it wasn’t easy. But that’s a story for another time. Marea, I see you’ve discovered your talent.”
Her eyes widened. “Yes, I have. You knew?”
“It’s why I was against you coming. Fatewalkers are too volatile for such a journey, but no matter now.” Thunder boomed in the distance. “You boy, which cell are you from again?”
Avery’s back straightened. “Yatiport, sir. Though originally south end of Worldsmouth.”
Tai frowned—Avery looked at once abashed, like a beggar caught playing gang leader, and at the same time resentful or jealous. Because he knew Nauro was more powerful? Because the older shaman had saved them where Avery couldn’t?
“And you’re a journeyman?” Nauro asked, voice calm. Though that meant little with Nauro. At Avery’s nod he leaned in. “Where did you learn that grounding technique?”
Avery’s eyes squinted, and Tai got the sense there was a deeper exchange going on here. What weren’t they saying? Or were they trying to read each other’s minds? On impulse Tai struck mindsight, the resonance coming easy and strong this close to the stone, and tried to see into either one’s mind. They were opaque as hard-packed clay.
“I did a lot of reading,” Avery was saying. “And now I have the uai stream to test it.”
“And you got it right on the first try?” Nauro’s very absence of surprise underlined it all the more. “Lucky for Tai and his friends.”
“He’s been teaching us too,” Ella broke in. “We can all see revenants now, and I can grasp them.”
Nauro scowled. “Fool boy. You know the dangers in teaching the uninitiated.”
“Are they worse than the dangers we face here?” Avery asked, setting his jaw.
“Yes,” Nauro said. “These are shamans. Thrall the wrong revenant and you face the gods themselves.”
