by S. M. Beiko
“Damn,” he muttered. “Still heavy.”
On the other side of the crack, Natti was on her knees, struggling to keep the onslaught of water from crushing us all. The dark thing that had been Seela, straddled that chasm, but it had been snared in a ribbon of amber light between the antlers of my best friend, who had travelled farther than I had.
The world was coming apart beneath us, and that canyon yawned huge and red and hungry. It was time to end this thing.
The three gold rings flashed beneath Phae. Eli held me up, and three more rings came up under me. Six. Then twelve. Each stone had echoed the call of its sister. And I felt it resonate, and I pushed that sound out of me and towards Phae, catching it in the tines of her sparking blue antlers.
The darkness shrank until there was nothing, and the chasm beneath us shone. I said one last prayer — Ancient, hear this call. A prayer and a last desperate plea to wake the only thing that could close Seela’s handiwork and —
The Dragon Opal shattered.
Then the Emerald, the Moonstone, the Sapphire. Each cracked under the pressure of the last fissure. The world was silent. And between us a geyser of darkness shot up from the Bloodlands, throwing us all aside into the raging tempest of the sea.
~
“Did you see that?”
From the mainland, it was almost as if the entire world saw it. A jagged black line fissuring out of the sea, a black mass tearing through the red sky and disappearing into the vacuum of space.
Satellites were shattered in the mass’s wake — but it didn’t get far. When the dust cleared and what was left of the world’s shaken technology came back to life, they’d know it wasn’t all some fever dream. The world was populated by people with powers. Soon enough they’d learn that there had once been a precious balance these people maintained, under the influence and guidance of gods.
And soon enough they’d learn to blame them, too, for the break of that balance, which may have been intended all along.
Hanging in the sky was a second moon. A dark one, made of three beings luxuriating in their newfound freedom. The darkling moon kissed the heavens. Someday soon it would fall back to earth. But for now, the single entity that had been three would bide its time and enjoy the chaos below, making no promises.
It was where it belonged.
~
Phae had done all she could. So had Natti. The sea had borne them back to the shore. And, impossibly, Phae felt warmth on her face from a clearing sky.
The world was still there. But so was the dark moon above.
Barton was somewhere near. Close now. The tether between them was growing shorter. She shut her eyes. So much had changed. But, at least, there might be a tomorrow to consider it.
~
“It . . . didn’t work.”
The crack in the world hadn’t closed. Eli and I looked down into it from the clifftop he’d carried us to. There was something at the bottom of the chasm, a glimpse of something, a place that I had seen in a distant nightmare. Another realm. The last realm.
Eli’s wings swept down, though remained taut, ready for flight just in case. “So now what?”
I scowled. “That’s my line.”
He grunted. “The stones are broken. Ancient didn’t wake up. The world has shifted.” His golden gaze traced behind us to land. “Denizens are exposed. And that —” he pointed to the black smear in the sky “— is not going anywhere anytime soon.”
I squinted at it, that faraway threat. Then I looked back down into the trench, understanding vaguely where, and to whom, it led.
“It should be me,” I said, trying to be the brave one, one last time. “Ancient is down there, and even though it slept through its alarm, it’s the only thing that can —”
“You really need to come up with some new material,” Eli said. “You went alone last time. Look where that got you.”
I exhaled. “Good point.”
“Besides,” he said, “the stones may be broken for their use in the world. But I’m still here. Which means there isn’t much else for me to do except trail after you to pick up the pieces. And I could use a change of scenery.”
It was something in the way of humour. We’d need that, I was sure. Wherever it was we were headed.
“And what if we go so far down we can’t get back out again?”
But I knew the answer before he said it. “You don’t go down into something like that expecting to come out again.”
Ever the pragmatist. I took one last look at the precious world. Thought of the people I loved in it. Said goodbye.
I felt a flicker inside me. The barest light. And it was a spark. A glowing ember. I looked down at my pale hands, at the chain-shaped scar on my arm. The wind rose. The heat rose. There’s life in the old girl yet.
Our feet left the cliff’s edge, and we dropped through the Quartz, into the chasm, together as we knew how to, down into the Brilliant Dark.
Answer
The world had stopped.
At the edge of the universe, Ancient awoke.
Tethered by creation, set as firmly as a keystone at the pivot point of life and destruction. The place, the feeling, the breath and notion from which all things come and return. Ancient felt the world grind to a halt, strung delicately in the heavens it had wrought, on a line that strummed directly into its enormous heart.
The darklings were gone. The stones were broken. But they had returned. Closer now than they had been for ages unmeasured. Ancient felt it — the wheel it had cast into motion, not quite making that last revolution, before it moved widdershins. Turning towards the inevitable.
And Ancient perceived. Which meant, after so long, it was awake. Awake to make that last revolution. To bring it all full circle.
It felt her there — the one who had once carried the stones. A pinprick in the vast eternal black. The one it had been waiting for. She had a long journey ahead. Ancient blinked, saw it all happening as it had before. As if it had never happened. All at once, these parallel narratives. But the end was always the same. As it had to be. And yet the girl was not alone. Ancient was, for once in its existence, surprised. Curious. At long last, Ancient thought. The end has finally begun.
Acknowledgements
There’s a special tidbit I’m about to reveal about Children of the Bloodlands that I waffled about sharing. It either makes me look like a speed-writing adept (definitely not) or slightly psychotic (well . . .). But here it is: I wrote the book you are holding in under thirty days, start to finish, in April 2017. This seems slightly crazy (slightly?) considering it’s nearly five hundred pages and the first draft was 130,000 words. Also considering that Scion of the Fox hadn’t even launched yet (it did in October), and I was in a flurry of preparing for that and travelling monthly to promote it.
But that’s how it goes in publishing, and I learned a lot about myself as a writer that month. I also realized, even harder than before, that you don’t really write books alone.
So, once again, thank you from the bottom of my heart to so many people who made this book happen. To my lead editor, Jen Hale, whose comments are a lot of fist-pumping in the margins but also so much support and great constructive work on the narrative. To Jen Knoch, copy editor extraordinaire, who caught so many things and really brought this maddening book home. To the rest of the team at ECW — from typesetting to packaging to marketing to publicity — thank you for making another beautiful book I am ecstatic to share with the world, and for letting me do so much with this world.
Obviously, I could not have done this without my family, namely my parents, who stopped by my house every once in a while during that month to make sure I hadn’t died, and dropped off copious volumes of vegan cake. And always, to my long-suffering husband, Peter, a.k.a. Dr. Bear, who stood back in patient wonder while I hammered away throughout many nights on this book. My rescue dog, Sophie,
put up with a lot that month, I’m sure, but if it wasn’t for her daily two-hour walks, I wouldn’t have been able to so vividly brainstorm all the terrible things I put Roan and the gang through (again). A good doggo indeed.
And once more, thank you to the readers. Really, what would be the point without you? All the people I’ve met and spoken to about Scion since it entered the world have been so wonderfully kind. Thanks for joining me on this epic quest.
SNEAK PEEK
The Brilliant Dark:
The Realms of Ancient, Book III
We Are the Flame
Stick the landing.
That’s the only phrase — a dumb one, a desperate one — that clung to Saskia’s brain. She didn’t know who exactly she was talking to in her head, since only stupid people gave themselves advice (so said Phae). But what she was doing tonight was plenty stupid, so she’d take what she could get.
No one knew she was out here, either. Not the curfew wardens. Not the neighbours. Not even Phae. Saskia was quiet, knew when to watch, when to listen. And you had to be stupid not to know that any authority would be otherwise occupied with what was going down at the Old Legislature. They wouldn’t be for long, and she couldn’t hesitate any longer.
Ultimately, Saskia didn’t trust that she’d stick the landing, but as she scampered between buildings up Broadway, under flickering street lights, her canvas bag smashing heavily across her chest, she figured she had nothing else to do but jump.
It was dark. But the dark wasn’t much of a threat to her — and hadn’t been, for a long time. Sometimes it felt safer in the dark, considering what the world looked like during the day. Saskia kept her hood up. It wasn’t the dark that worried her, but the cameras. The constant feeds. In the 4,067 scenarios she’d run in her stress-addled brain, she didn’t dare consider anything other than success. There was no alternative.
Saskia flattened against the wall and turned her face away, stiffening — members of the Task Force Guard rushed past, grunting under their heavy packs, their full-helm visors cartoonish and faceless. Her heart sped up when she flicked her head back to see where they’d gone — towards Memorial, which was now called Reclamation Street. She focused on her breath, forcing her pulse to slow, but those cracks of burning doubt crept in. This is so stupid. Why are you out here risking your neck for them, anyway? They wouldn’t do the same for you.
She shook her head, hands diving into the pack at her hip and pulling out the battered tablet. Plastic and steel, the weight of it slightly more reassuring. It made her feel in control. Stick to the facts — and the facts were that she was already out here. If she went back now, she’d just pace in her room until sunrise, knowing she could’ve done something and that she’d chosen to be afraid. No more of that, no matter what they said.
Saskia pressed the power button, checked the time against her wristwatch. Fifteen minutes. A few keystrokes and swipes and the app was up. So were her firewalls, old code that would do better in a pinch than nothing. Her pulse was back up, eyes darting, and when she zeroed in on exactly what — and where — she had to go to make this work, it played out in her head as cinematically as it had when she’d programmed this weeks ago.
Now all she had to do was not get caught.
~
“I don’t know why you think this is, like, the best idea you could possibly come up with to pass the time.”
Ella’s bottom lip had curled at Saskia’s comment, but she still kept stuffing her bag. “This isn’t some game, Saskia. You wouldn’t understand. You’re not one of us.”
With Ella’s words, Saskia felt the stab between her ribs just as acutely as she always did over the last seven years. Anger roiled up in place of the shame, no matter how she tried to shove it down. “I think I know more about any of this shit than you do!”
“Shut up!” Ella whirled, but this time Saskia could see on her best friend’s face how torn she was. “You don’t get it, do you? You can leave this crummy apartment and be, like, normal. Have a future. You can have all those things that Mundanes want. But I can’t. My Family can’t.”
The two girls jerked at the sound of something crashing in the apartment hallway, Ella’s bedroom close to the fire escape and the walls always so thin. A woman yelling. A baby crying. The electricity flickered and went out, but it wasn’t dark for long. The palm of Ella’s hand lit her stricken brown eyes with bright Denizen flame.
“I just . . .” Saskia’s jaw was tight, eyes bone dry. She was upset, but she hadn’t cried in years, not really. “I don’t want anything to happen to you. I don’t want to lose you.”
Once, Ella might have put her arms around Saskia, and they would have hugged fiercely, feeling each other’s bones move with their love, but they were older now and knew better, and these days, Denizens should stick together, trust only each other. Mundanes were the enemy.
“If you want to help me,” Ella said, focusing now on her little flame, which was growing wider and wider, “you won’t get in my way.”
~
Instead of heading back out into the street, Saskia shuffled along the building she’d hidden against, farther into the back lanes of houses and small apartment buildings crushed against Young Street. Even before the Reclamation Project, coming down here after midnight would have been dangerous, but with the Task Guard posted everywhere, especially downtown, especially by the Old Leg, no one dared come out here. Not even errant Mundane drug dealers. A cat yowled, darting out of the shadows. Saskia froze when it threw her a withering stare before scampering back to the much-safer hole from whence it came.
It’s just a cat, she told herself, twice for good measure. It wasn’t a f . . . well. It couldn’t have been that. Not anymore.
But the line from the story leapt up like a familiar friend whispering in her ear. Once upon a time, a girl was followed home by a fox . . .
Saskia shook it off. Pull it together. Across the back lane, she rushed a collapsing fence and vaulted over it, landing shy of one of many huge piles of trash crammed between houses, against chain-link. A quick survey with her watch’s flashlight showed it to be more of the same — charred old tech, probably seized from a Denizen house, decommissioned and flung out here to be collected for precious metals and scrapped. The Task Guard didn’t want Denizens to be connected in the ways the Mundanes got to enjoy. Wouldn’t want them to assemble, to think twice about putting their powers to use. It was in these many junk piles that Saskia scavenged often and whose contents filled her bedroom nearly floor-to-ceiling. It kept her hands and brain busy. It kept the quickly tumbling world on some kind of keel.
It kept the shadows quiet.
. . . and after the fox followed the girl home, Death came for both of them . . .
Saskia bent over, digging the heels of her hands — callused from soldering wires and pinching receivers — into her eyes. Stop. Not now. Her heartbeat was picking up. Please, not now. This was what she wanted, she reminded herself. To be the damned hero for a change. She wasn’t going to freeze up. Not this time.
She took a breath. She counted. She straightened her spine and dropped her shoulders. Not this time.
The cat was long gone, and Saskia was alone in the back alleys of a city she’d never known except under the rule of anxiety. Of caution. Of an undercurrent of fear that she carried everywhere with her. She took another sharp breath and darted from light post to light post, feet quick and legs strong. Just like Barton had taught her, each stride like she was pulling against a current, and somehow, the stronger the bursts, the more her heart evened out. It was in running that she felt him most with her, and though she desperately wished he was here now, wishes were no good to the logical mind even at the best of times.
She’d have to cross Reclamation Street eventually, be out in the open with little protection. Saskia had known the risks, made all the calculations. But she was still more human than all the half-finished devic
es strewn across her workbench. Machines that had been her closest friends . . . apart from the one she was stupidly trying to save tonight.
Saskia dashed up another side street when she heard nearby bootfalls, more shouts. She crouched, gripping her black hood tightly. She squinted at her watch and then at the app. Not yet. She still had time to stop this.
Saskia’s head jerked up. Quick-checking the map, she was ten feet from the outskirts of the building’s side lanes, the perimeter of cameras waiting for any opportunity to catch her. She ran through the probabilities. The former was becoming the likeliest. Stupid brain. She didn’t condemn it long — she’d need every neuron to make this work.
Keystroke. Flick. She realized she was close enough to deploy the code. A sudden rush — she could pull this off from the shadows, be home before Phae noticed she was gone. A flush of premature triumph. She —
The explosion rattled the windows of the rundown apartment block she hid beside, hammered the ground. Saskia went flying into a dumpster at her back, though she didn’t land hard enough to do more than knock the wind out of her. Screams and shouting, the heavy, horrible noise of weapons charging up to fire the first sonic salvo. Saskia winced, looking up at the wall in front of her, emblazoned with an icon that was seared into her eyelids whenever she shut them and tried to sleep.
The fox head wreathed in flame, the red spray paint shining bloody in the luminous dark. The face of a girl. A face Saskia knew once, though briefly.
Beneath the icon: WE ARE THE FLAME.
Saskia’s jaw set, and she leapt up on shaking legs, racing into the open street.
~
It wasn’t a bomb, per se.
Besides that, explosives weren’t Saskia’s style. She wasn’t that desperate. Not yet. The Elemental Task Guard may have been at the forefront of the changing world, may have had the right Denizens on their side, and all the tech the nation could muster to keep the weirdos in line, but like people, every machine had a weakness. Every gear or line of code could be outmatched. All it took was one person who stepped back and saw things from a different angle to pull the wires apart and expose the throbbing core.
