The Severed Tower

by J. Barton Mitchell

  “Echo!” Mira shouted next to Holt, trying to get the attention of the boy over all the angry voices. “Echo!”

  The boy stopped and turned around in surprise. His eyes found Mira, and the one the scar passed over twitched a little.

  Echo hesitated, staring at Mira. Then he shouted to the four guards. “Her!” Echo pointed at Mira. “Let her through!”

  “And my friends!” Mira yelled back.

  Echo frowned. “Fine. Sure. Why not.”

  The crowd watched as Holt and the others were escorted past the guards and into the clear, and then they yelled even louder, angrier than before.

  When they reached him, Echo shook his head in frustration. “Picked a hell of a day to show up.”

  “Echo…” Mira said and moved for him. He hugged her back with warmth, then pulled away. Something passed between them, something that hinted at a past, but Holt had no way to know what. He just nervously watched the short kid study Mira up close. If he noticed her eyes, he gave no indication. It was a subtle thing, and in a tense situation like this, he might not notice at all. Holt hoped their luck held.

  “What’s going on?” Mira asked.

  “Evacuation is what’s going on.”

  “Clearly a popular decision,” Holt observed.

  “Clearly.” Echo studied Holt and Zoey a moment. “But it is what it is. Things are getting out of control. The Strange Lands are changing, Mira. And no one has the first clue why.”

  “Changing?” Mira asked. “Changing how?”

  “Stable Anomalies are in place, they’re still where they were. The Mix Master, the Compactor, all of them. Though some people say they’re stronger. It’s the unstable ones that are the problem. They’re moving outside their normal rings. Been getting reports of everything from Ion Storms in the second to Quark Spheres in the third.”

  Mira was stunned. Clearly this was serious news. “The Strange Lands have been the same for almost a decade, they don’t change.”

  “Well, they do now,” Echo answered darkly.

  “What about farther in? What about Polestar?”

  “Deckard’s not evacuating, but that’s no surprise. Polestar’s his life. He’ll hold on as long as he can, maybe longer. I just hope he doesn’t get everyone there dead.” He looked at Mira squarely. “I lied to them back there, you know. He ordered the Crossroads to stay open.”

  “But you’re not doing it,” Mira said.

  Echo shook his head wearily. “I’m moving everyone the hell out until it’s safe. If Anomalies are showing up in different rings, who’s to say they won’t cross outside the border altogether? If Deckard has a problem with it, he can come tell me himself.”

  Mira’s gaze intensified. “We need to get into the Strange Lands, Echo. It’s important.”

  Echo shook his head. “I closed Northlift two days ago. No one’s going in. If it makes you feel better, Ben wasn’t happy about it either.”

  At the name, Holt stiffened.

  “Ben’s here?” Mira asked in surprise.

  “Yeah,” Echo replied. “Figured that’s why you were here.”

  “Not exactly.”

  “He got here right after I closed the lift. Another hour and he could have gotten in. Been trying to get him to leave with everyone else, but he’s got a whole expedition of Gray Devils down there, and they’re probably more than my guards can handle. He’s refusing to leave. If he keeps it up, I’ll have to push the issue, and that’s not something I’m looking forward to.”

  “Can I see him?” she asked.

  Echo thought it through. “I guess. Maybe you can talk some sense into him. You were the only one who ever could. But that’s all you’re going down for. No one’s using Northlift.”

  They started walking, the shouts of the crowd fading behind them, and Holt finally saw why the road seemed to end so abruptly.

  Ahead of them, the ground disappeared into a sheer drop off the edge of a cliff. Yet it was more than that. A giant, jagged hole stretched in a roughly circular shape outward, two lines of plummeting rock that met back together in the far distance. It was an old rock quarry, Holt saw, and it had been repurposed long ago as something else entirely. A junkyard, a very specific kind. Hundreds of old military planes—bombers, transports and fighters—from all eras and ages, most rusting and falling apart, sat at the bottom of the quarry and stretched into the distance.

  The road didn’t just end, either. It took a sharp left and then banked steeply in a wide path that carved through the wall of the quarry. A big trail, but it would have to be to get these planes in here.

  Near where the road turned away, a framework of steel and old railroad timber held a giant series of chains that ran through a complicated system of pulleys and cables, and several refurbished tractor engines that were loudly cranking something upward from below.

  It was a huge box-shaped elevator, big enough to hold several dozen kids and their belongings. It was made of wood and sheet metal and plastic siding all hammered and blended together, with the chains running through the pulleys in the supports attached to each of its four corners.

  What looked like the steering column from some old boat sat in the middle, with thick cables running from it up the walls, through the pulleys and over to the tractor engines.

  An operator inside yanked a lever downward and the engines gurgled and shut off. The lift rocked badly, slamming into the edge of the cliff, but the kids inside seemed to expect it. They piled out just as angry as the others, all yelling and clamoring for Echo’s attention; but the lift also brought with it three more guards, and they shoved the group away toward the rest.

  “When did you start evacuating?” Mira asked.

  “About a day ago, but it’s been slow going,” Echo said. He seemed tired, Holt noted. “No one leaves until the guards force them to. Plus, using Southlift is taking forever. Going to have to make people use the old road.”

  They got inside and Echo slammed a lever upward on the old controls. The lift jolted as the engines outside grumbled back to life and began to indelicately lower them down. Southlift, Echo had called it. Northlift, Holt guessed, was most likely a similar elevator at the other end of the junkyard that people used to enter the Strange Lands. With the cliffs all around them and the only road exiting to the south, if Echo shut it down he could definitely keep people from going in. They’d have to scale the quarry walls, otherwise.

  Southlift rocked and swayed as it lowered, and Holt grabbed a strap from the ceiling for good measure. He felt Zoey cling to his leg, trying to balance. She didn’t seem scared, though.

  “What’s up with you and Lenore?” Echo asked Mira. “Heard there was some kind of dustup? You in trouble?”

  Mira and Holt looked at each other. Mira had basically killed Lenore Rowe, the leader of the Gray Devils, in their escape out of Midnight City. It wasn’t technically death, but using an artifact to spontaneously Succumb someone to the Tone was about as close as you could get.

  “It’s … all okay now,” Mira said. It wasn’t entirely a lie, it was “okay” as far as Mira was concerned. But Holt doubted any Gray Devils they ran into would agree. “It’s one of the reasons I’m here, actually.”

  “Well, like I said,” Echo replied testily, “if that reason involves going into the Strange Lands, you’re not doing it from the Crossroads.”

  Before Mira could argue, the lift touched down with a jolt. Echo yanked another lever, silencing the engines up top, and stepped out the opposite side.

  Holt and the others followed, and when they did the full breadth of the Crossroads came into view.

  Airplanes of all kinds and types, in various states of disrepair, stretched into the distance, most of them laboriously repurposed into houses, stores, workshops, eateries, and warehouses, arranged all the way to the other side of the crater, parked and lined up next to each other long ago.

  Bridges made of rope and wooden planks stretched between the tops of the old aircraft, making the place a ci
ty of two levels, the ground and the open air above. Ramshackle structures made of wood and fiberglass were attached to the tops of some of the bigger planes, and Holt saw what looked like a food court hanging onto an old green C-130 transport.

  And there were people. Lots of people. Mostly teens, Holt noticed. There were fewer children here than in Midnight City or Faust, probably because this was a fringe location. It was more dangerous living here at the border of the Strange Lands.

  They moved in and out of the planes and buildings, most packing and filling bags, getting ready to leave. More armed guards, Echo’s men, moved in between, making sure progress was being made, and Holt saw a line of kids a hundred strong stretching back and waiting to ride Southlift up to the top. Echo was right, it would take forever that way.

  They kept walking, pushing through the crowds and the strange, converted city of crumbling airplanes, and as they did Holt saw something else. Every once in awhile, he spotted a flag flying above a plane or a ramshackle structure. Colorful ones, ones he recognized with a sinking feeling.

  Auburn red, with a huge white wolf’s head. Black, with a white Celtic cross. Green, with a sharp yellow sword.

  Midnight City factions. Their outposts in the Crossroads. They’d have to be careful. It wasn’t just Mira they might recognize. Holt still felt a chill when he thought about seeing his name on the Scorewall.

  “You come from Midnight?” Echo asked as they walked.

  Mira nodded.

  “Are the rumors true? The Assembly actually attacked it?”

  Mira hesitated. “Yeah.”

  “Wow.” Echo seemed stunned. “Still can’t imagine that. I mean, they’ve left it alone for so long, why attack it now, you know?”

  This was a dangerous conversation, given that the answer to Echo’s question was walking along with them, holding Holt’s hand. He quickly changed the subject. “We saw Menagerie boats on the way here.”

  Echo’s demeanor darkened. “Heard about that, too. Scouts said they anchored about a mile away; been pulling equipment and gear off. Looks like they’re heading into the Strange Lands, crazy as that is. Never met a Menagerie Freebooter, and I wouldn’t want to either. But so far they haven’t made it here, if that’s what they’re intending.”

  “Will you turn them back, too?” Holt asked. He hoped the answer was yes.

  “Plan to, yeah,” Echo answered tightly. “If I have my way, they won’t get past Southlift. But Menagerie are always armed. And they don’t like the word ‘no’ very much.” He sighed and rubbed his eyes. “Sometimes I’m not sure it’s worth all the headache. Maybe I just oughta leave, let Ben and the Menagerie and Deckard and everyone else do what they want.”

  “You’re not Deckard,” Mira said. “But you do keep your promises. You’ve been the Overseer here longer than anyone. No one said it would be easy.”

  “Yeah,” Echo replied, “you got that right.”

  Someone shouted from ahead of them, a boy’s voice, somewhat soft, but it carried regardless. “Mira!”

  Holt looked up at the sound.

  The Crossroads was a ghost town this far in, but sitting under a thick, gray canopy was a group of about twenty kids. The canopy was made of tough fabric, strung back and forth between three old fighter jets, marking off a pretty large area of ground. Holt could see sleeping cots, a cooking area, a pool table and showers—and he saw something else, too. From the top of the fabric structure a flag flew, outstretched in the wind. Deep gray and white, with a laughing devil’s face, a forked tongue snaking out of its mouth, horns on its head.

  It was the Gray Devils outpost, Holt realized, but, did that mean…?

  Someone appeared out of nowhere and grabbed Mira. Holt’s first thought was that the Gray Devils were attacking, but it only took one look to know that wasn’t the case. A boy lifted Mira off the ground and spun her.

  He was about her age, with lean muscles under a gray utility shirt. His eyes were full of the Tone, and his hair was razored close to his scalp, leaving a dark outline of color over the top. He had a pair of black-rimmed eyeglasses on his nose, and he smiled up at Mira as he spun her around once, twice … and then kissed her.

  It was a short kiss. That was Holt’s only consolation. But still, Mira didn’t push him away. When it was done she just stared down at the boy with a mixture of emotions.

  “Hi, Ben,” she said in a low, conflicted voice.

  It felt like somebody had just stepped on Holt’s heart.

  4. BEN

  BENJAMIN AUBERTINE had never been classically good-looking. He was lean and agile, in good shape, but most Freebooters were. He had sharp features set in an angular face, and a detached self-confidence behind his eyes. His hair was something he didn’t have an interest in maintaining, so he kept it shaved close, leaving a thin layer of black over his head that gave him a hard-edged look that belied his true nature.

  In reality, Mira had never seen Ben fight anyone, never seen him lift a hand in anger, never seen him mad at all. Maybe that was because he had no reason to be. Ben could talk himself out of anything. Mira once watched him convince some Crossmen Freebooters who’d lost their supplies in the third ring that choosing not to rob Mira and himself would ultimately result in two hundred and thirty Points for each of them on the Scorewall. They’d believed him, and he’d been right. That exact amount was figured into their totals when they got back, due to their navigation of the third ring without food or equipment.

  Moments like that were reasons why Mira had been pulled to Ben. She rarely found herself attracted to conventional sorts. She was drawn to different qualities, like intellect or creativity or some unique personality quirk. Even with Holt, for all his obvious physicality, her feelings for him mostly stemmed from his wits, his ability to improvise, his calm under pressure.

  It was the same with Ben.

  Ben was brilliant. He was brilliant everywhere, but most of all in the Strange Lands. He was made for it. His ability to quickly solve complex problems was why he was the best Freebooter in the world. He could study an Anomaly once and have it mastered, could always pass through it from then on, faster than anyone else. His brain was like a sponge for details and patterns, and once something was learned, he never forgot it.

  Looking at him beaming up at her, his eyes sparkling in spite of the Tone, she saw the other reason she’d been attracted to him. Ben relied on facts and logic and numbers, and it made him almost emotionless. If he wasn’t, he wouldn’t be who he was, someone who went the direction his mind pointed him, not his heart.

  But it had always been different with Mira.

  With her, he smiled. His masks dropped. He shared secrets and dreams, he was a whole person, not an automaton. She was the only one who brought that out in him. And she liked it, she liked that he had opened for her, and for her alone.

  Not unlike how Holt had very recently opened for her, too, she thought.

  Holt.

  The world came flooding back, and she remembered that he and Zoey were right behind her. Watching.

  She squirmed in Ben’s grasp until he set her on the ground. Behind him, his team of Gray Devils Freebooters stood up as they slowly recognized who she was.

  Mira recognized most of them, too. A redheaded kid named Scott Norwood, the third-highest-rated Freebooter in the Gray Devils and the fifth overall. He’d always had a competitive streak with Ben, though Ben never seemed to notice. Twin sisters, both fourteen, Tara and Ranee Enright, had only been Freebooters a few months before Mira had been exiled, but she remembered they’d shown impressive pathfinding skills. Joseph Pisano, a tall, lanky kid, who had always had a crush on Mira, she thought, though he was too shy to act on it. And others, about twenty in all.

  She used to be one of them, someone they looked up to. But now they stared at her with hostility. In their minds, she had betrayed their faction, she was a Point fabricator, and things were very different now. It was another reminder of just how much she’d lost.

  The Gr
ay Devils moved toward her.

  Behind her, Mira sensed Holt step forward, saw his hands slide toward his pistol. She opened her mouth to speak—

  “No.” Another voice beat her to it. Ben’s. Calm, soft and low. But somehow it always carried, everyone always heard it. He slowly held up a hand as he spoke.

  The Gray Devils froze in their tracks, staring between Ben and Mira.

  “Everything’s fine,” Ben said. “It adds up. If Mira’s here, then things are resolved. Right, Mira?” Whether he was covering for her or believed what he’d said, Mira couldn’t tell.

  “Yes,” was all she said. She’d tell Ben the truth later, but not with the other Gray Devils nearby. She quickly moved on before anyone else spoke. “Ben, I want you to meet my friends.”

  Mira was surprised by the effort it took to say that. It was a moment, like many others, she’d been dreading. A part of her hoped it would never come, but it had. And there was nothing to do about it now. “This is … Holt.” She forced herself to look at him. Her throat felt dry. “He’s the one who got me here. And he helped me in Midnight City, too. I wouldn’t be alive without him.”

  Ben looked at Holt. And Holt looked back.

  Ben had an amazing ability to deduce things from simple observations. He could put seemingly random and unconnected pieces of a puzzle together with very little effort, and right now his gaze moved up and down Holt with intensity.

  “He was also the bounty hunter who captured you,” Ben said. Holt’s eyebrows raised. He looked at Mira questioningly. “It’s your shoes, mainly,” Ben continued. “You don’t wear boots like most people. And yours are new, probably salvaged a month ago, maybe less. That makes it a conscious choice. Shoes over boots. Only reason you do that—so you can run. Which means you run a lot.”

  Holt’s stare hardened, but Ben didn’t seem to notice.

  “You’re clearly not timid, I can see it in your eyes, so you’re not running from anyone. You’re running after them. Chasing people … and you do it a lot. That, combined with the handcuffs on your belt, suggests you’re a bounty hunter. Someone who chases people for a living. You must be good, too. Catching Mira couldn’t have been easy.” Ben’s voice shifted slightly. The barest hint of darkness. But for him, it said a lot.