Immortal Architects

by Paige Orwin

  But Kyra?

  How was Istvan supposed to start over with Kyra, after all of that? They had only spoken briefly while he was sober, in the Demon’s Chamber, and while it had been a well-meaning start, it hadn’t even worked, and–

  The odd tearing sound of tape off the roll split his thoughts.

  Istvan returned to the front part of the building in time to see Kyra drawing a long strip of the substance over a crack in the glass he hadn’t seen before. Had that broken when they fought?

  “Kyra,” he said.

  “Yeah?”

  “Do you ever recall seeing two mockeries fighting each other?”

  The Conduit shook his head. He pulled the roll of tape downwards, crouching and pressing the ribbon against the glass.

  “You’re certain?”

  A shrug. “They chased me. That’s all.”

  Istvan gripped his bandolier. Oh, there was nothing for it. He had to ask sooner or later, and despite what Edmund so often said there were some things that it was better to know. “Please, tell me what you remember of Pietro Koller.”

  Kyra pulled down harder, a sudden tug that peeled away some of his previous work. He glanced at Istvan out of the corner of his eye. “You going to attack me again?”

  “No.”

  “You sure?”

  Istvan backed up three steps. “I promise that I won’t attack you.”

  Kyra patted down the tape. “It’s just pieces,” he grumbled. “It’s all just pieces. I don’t know what you want. He was a… a guy. With a moustache. You danced with him once. I guess he’s dead now, too.”

  Istvan’s heart sank.

  “Why does it matter?” Kyra continued. “Why’d you pull a knife on me for that?”

  Oh, he shouldn’t have asked. It was so long ago, and yet the Susurration had dredged it up like it had just happened – like everything they had ever done was new, like they were living it again all over. Gone. Only Pietro’s image, used against him.

  Dead now, too, for the second time.

  Istvan turned his wedding ring around his finger. “Kyra, why are you staying?”

  “What?”

  “Why are you staying with us after everything we’ve done to you?”

  Kyra dropped the roll of tape. It dangled, twisting. “You said there ain’t anyone else,” he said. “You promised you’d help.”

  “We did, but–”

  “You guys are really powerful, and you can get places really fast, and you do whatever it takes to win. Besides, Mr Templeton said that he’s fought her before. You beat her before.” He clenched his fists before him. “If you did that, you can do it again.”

  “But the way we’ve treated you–”

  “It don’t matter.”

  Istvan almost stepped towards him; then checked himself and stayed where he was. He doubted proximity would help anything. “What do you mean it doesn’t matter?”

  “None of it was real anyway. None of them were real. It was fake. It was all fake, and it’s stupid to care about fake people. OK?” Kyra snatched up the tape. “Just let me fix the window.”

  The screech of unrolling tape filled the room again.

  Shattered. Shattered, and then enthralled by the Susurration before that. A life – perhaps most of his life – tailored to his expectations, even as the real world fell apart around him, and then a deluge of memory that wasn’t his.

  This time, Istvan did step towards him. “You aren’t fake.”

  “Yeah, well, you keep changing your mind, and you tried to attack me, and you won’t listen to me, and you’re dead.”

  “Kyra–”

  “Stop acting like you know me.”

  But Istvan knew what it was like! He knew the Demon’s Chamber, he knew the shock of having too many memories, he knew how it was to come suddenly into power in the middle of war, he… he hadn’t done anything to convince Kyra that he was worth listening to. Quite the contrary.

  He rubbed at his wrists. “I’m sorry.”

  Kyra laid out the last strip of tape and finally turned to face him. “What’s wrong with you? I don’t know what you’re going to do. Ever. You tried to help me, and then you do that, and then you…” He touched one of his burned wrists. “What’s wrong with you? How are we supposed to beat the Immortal if you keep doing this?”

  Back to Shokat Anoushak again. The boy seemed driven by little else.

  Istvan sighed. “I’m a spirit of War,” he said. “To me, suffering is like a terribly powerful drug, and when you last saw me, I’d just killed a lot of people.”

  A long pause.

  “Oh,” said Kyra.

  “You know how it is that you remember so much about Shokat Anoushak? I’m just the same, but with my war. The Great War.”

  “Were they bad people?”

  “Not really.”

  Kyra drew a shaky breath. “I’m gonna put the tape away.”

  “I’m sorry,” Istvan said. “I wish that I had a better answer.”

  The Conduit walked past him, giving a wider berth than before. He seemed dazed, distant, moving automatically rather than giving his place in the world any thought. The edges of him – the Shattered reflections, emotions colliding into cancellation – grew blurred and muddied, once again making him difficult to discern even as he moved in plain sight. It was as though he were an entire city, and hid within himself.

  “Is there anything I can do to make it up to you?” Istvan asked.

  Kyra pulled open the closet. He stood there a moment, considering. “Stop making fun of my clothes and don’t call me a boy,” he said. He glanced back, eyes narrowed. “And help me win.”

  * * *

  Ice cracked beneath Edmund’s boots as he arrived back at Niagara, the grass withering. He could see his breath and feel the inside of his nose solidifying. He wouldn’t have been surprised if the storm at New Haven had actually come with him.

  Behind him, William Blake, the Tyger, let out an inquisitive growl.

  “Right,” said Edmund. “Wait here. I’ve warned Kyra, but I don’t know how she’ll take it at first.”

  The beast nodded. He raised himself to his hind legs, bear-like, and peered about as snow condensed and fluttered around him.

  Edmund hurried to the museum. This trip was going to be a long one. “Istvan,” he called, pulling the door open, “Kyra, we’re here!”

  “Oh, good,” said Istvan from somewhere above him.

  Edmund looked up. The ghost was sitting on the roof, legs dangling over the edge. He looked more disheveled than usual, like he’d been slogging through mud. Edmund glanced back inside, but nothing seemed out of place or more broken than before. “What happened?” he asked.

  “Nothing.” Istvan pushed himself off, wings flickering into view, and landed soundlessly near him. “We only talked.”

  “And?”

  “He doesn’t like me at all.”

  Edmund sighed. “Well, that’s part of your problem.”

  “What?”

  Edmund shook his head and stepped into the building. “Kyra?”

  “I’m here!” came the response. “I’m almost done!”

  “Done with–”

  The Conduit emerged from the back rooms, wearing a souvenir hoodie and wool hat, with bulging canvas souvenir bags slung over both shoulders. “OK,” she said.

  Edmund raised his eyebrows. “What’s all that?”

  Kyra looked at the floor. “Well… if we need tape or rope or something, they had a bunch in the back, and I even found some snack bars that fell behind the shelves.” She reached into one of the bags and held one up. “See?”

  Edmund had no idea how long those things could last, and he didn’t want to find out. “Right,” he said. “Remember, this is just a fact-finding excursion. How long are you expecting us to be gone?”

  “I dunno.” She peered at the wrapper. “I hope these are still good.”

  “Let’s hope. Come meet William.”

  Kyra followed him
back out, never looking at Istvan. She had to turn sideways to fit both bags through the door. What else had she packed?

  “Right,” said Edmund. He backed up to present the Tyger, who now crouched on the grass in an obvious effort to seem smaller. “William, Kyra Stewart. Kyra, William Blake, also known as the ‘Tyger.’ He’s our resident mockery and monster expert.” Edmund glanced back at him. “No offense.”

  The Tyger bared saber teeth, picking out letters one at a time before holding up the screen strapped to his foreleg. Green letters glowed on its face.

  none taken

  Kyra stared at him.

  “He’s friendly,” Edmund said.

  “He was human,” added Istvan. “They all were. We thought that her monsters had lost themselves in the change, when she did whatever she did but… we were wrong.” He looked away. “We didn’t know it, either, until William came along.”

  Edmund grimaced, rubbing at his upper arm where the scars hadn’t yet faded.

  Kyra edged closer to the Tyger, shivering. “I’ve seen things like you,” she breathed. “They stood at the doors. I didn’t know you could talk.”

  She reached a hand towards him.

  William backed up, shaking his great head, and then crouched back down on the grass.

  keep your fingers, he typed.

  Kyra pulled her hand back. “Sorry.”

  the true question, he continued, have you seen things like you?

  She blinked at the screen. Then, slowly, she shook her head.

  Edmund frowned. She had met Grace, hadn’t she? She must have, at least once, while Barrio Libertad was holding her. Grace was a Conduit, too – they had that in common. Although, granted, Grace couldn’t cause nearly as much destruction on as wide a scale, was over twice Kyra’s age, held a powerful position, and remembered well what the world was like before the Wizard War.

  As far as Conduits in general, well… the sample size left something to be desired. At least Kyra wasn’t talking about a vault full of them in Toronto. Small favors.

  The Tyger emitted a rolling growl. comrades in mystery, we

  A smile crept across Kyra’s face. “I guess so.”

  you chose your name?

  “Yeah! A- At least the first part. You like it?”

  fitting. i myself am a poet

  “Really?”

  A cold finger tapped Edmund on the shoulder. Istvan murmured in the soft drawl of his Viennese German,

  Edmund glanced back at him. The ghost jerked his head towards the museum.

  Kyra and the Tyger were still holding their strange half-silent conversation. Edmund held up a hand. “Excuse me, you two. This won’t be long.”

  Kyra gave them a suspicious look, but William simply nodded.

  Edmund followed Istvan back to the overhang before the door. “This plan was never a good idea,” he said, once they were far enough out of earshot. “Why back out now?”

  “There were two mockeries in the woods, not one,” said Istvan. “One of them is still alive.”

  “Still alive? And you left it?”

  “Yes, I left it. It’s tangled with the other one. Edmund, they were fighting each other. Kyra claims he–”

  “She.”

  Istvan sighed. “–she hasn’t seen anything like that before, but what do we have to rely on for any of this, aside from what Kyra says? If both of those mockeries are from the same place, we might be flying into some sort of… monster civil war, and unless Kyra somehow shows much more restraint, everything there will see us coming.”

  Edmund rubbed at his face. Warring mockeries? Monster factions? The Greater Great Lakes still had its fair share of beasts, unlike Big East, but nothing had spilled over before and everyone assumed that they weren’t that smart. Maybe mockeries were territorial if left to their own devices?

  But, then, there was the Tyger…

  “You’re certain that you can’t teleport us?” Istvan asked.

  “Yes,” Edmund said. “I never went to Toronto before the Wizard War, I sure don’t want to try blindly aiming for it now, and moving everyone in jumps across that lake is too much of a risk.”

  “So you would rather show up as part of an immense obvious water tornado directed by someone who may not even be able to control it.”

  Edmund sighed. He didn’t like it, either; Istvan knew he didn’t like it, but it was still better than the alternative. The idea of trying to get a boat past whatever might be in that lake – with shores touching both spellscars and the epicenter of the fracture zone – gave him nightmares. “You’re the one who argued for giving Kyra the benefit of the doubt on this, Istvan.”

  The ghost crossed his arms, looking across the grass at Kyra and the Tyger. He still seemed a little bedraggled – frayed uniform seams, dulled buttons, barbed wire rusted and tangled – and Edmund wondered what, exactly, he and the Conduit had talked about while he was gone. Whatever it was, it must have hit home.

  It was good to see him like that, in a way. It meant he cared. It meant the real Istvan, the man and not the war, was back. He wasn’t going back to Triskelion. He wasn’t going to buckle under and believe whatever line Lucy told him about being some kind of divine commander: he was better than that. Edmund had banked everything on that. Edmund liked Istvan.

  “I’m glad you’re with us,” Edmund said.

  Istvan turned his wedding ring around his finger. “Someone has to scout ahead.”

  “We figured it out,” called Kyra. She waved at them. “Mr Templeton, I think I can move you and Mr Blake without freezing you up.”

  Edmund grimaced. Crossing Lake Ontario was a hell of a trial run. He wasn’t looking forward to this trip. “That’s great,” he called back. “We’re done here, too.”

  He looked to Istvan; the ghost shrugged.

  “The worst it could be is a wash,” Edmund said, to him and maybe to himself. “If it goes south, I’ll get us back.” He started towards the others. “Come on.”

  Istvan followed, and Edmund knew now how much he’d taken that for granted.

  * * *

  Edmund could and did get them all to the shoreline. Scrubby grass greeted them, waterlogged, growing from sludge. Cold rain drizzled, flash-freezing when it came anywhere near the Tyger.

  Edmund turned up his collar.

  The steel grey of Lake Ontario stretched out before them. To the north, it dimmed and hazed into a thick fog. To the west, the shoreline curved away towards the Greater Great Lakes spellscars, mud flats dotted with shipwrecks half-sunk in the reeds, or maybe flocks of tall, thin shore birds; hard to tell. To the east – towards the Big East spellscars – wind-driven waves grew to dangerous heights, sharpening into razor edges, a frozen sea that seemed to crash and collapse when you weren’t looking directly at it.

  He tried to imagine that he wasn’t hearing the faint, plaintive blare of a ship’s horn. There couldn’t be shipping on this lake – not any more.

  “All right,” he said. “Kyra, what do you want us to do?”

  The Conduit walked up to the edge of the water, ignoring the muck sucking at her shoes. She let out a breath. She rubbed her hands together. “Dr Czernin should fly ahead and make sure we’re going the right way,” she said. “That way I won’t get lost again. You and Mr Blake, uh… just…” She shrugged. “Just don’t move too much, OK? And don’t freak out. I’ve picked up way bigger things than you guys.”

  “I remember,” said Edmund, which he did very well. All of those bigger things had been whirling around the periphery of the storm, crashing into each other and getting torn to shreds, as opposed to safely floating in the center.

  Kyra had once torn Istvan to shreds.

  Edmund swallowed. They had a backup plan. He could get them back if disaster struck. He kept telling himself that. He wished it wouldn’t have to happen over a lake.

  A tapping, claw against key.

  Edmund glanced at the Ty
ger. He’d briefed him about this, and the beast had agreed to come anyway if it meant a hope of finding others like himself, but agreeing and doing were two different things when you were staring out at it.

  a request, said the screen.

  Edmund raised his eyebrows.

  The Tyger reached out and plunged a paw into the lake. The water froze instantly around it. He gave an ineffectual tug, gave Edmund a significant look, then wrenched the limb free with a crack.

  if accident, he typed, tow an iceberg home, please

  Edmund imagined the Tyger frozen inside an ice cube, floating helplessly towards the Hudson. “Right,” he said. Then, because it seemed important to ask, he added, “How long can you survive frozen like that?”

  long enough to visit spain

  “I promise I won’t drop you,” said Kyra, who had admitted at breakfast that she hadn’t tried to carry anyone other than herself before. “I got this.”

  “I’ll be off, then, I suppose,” said Istvan. He set a hand on Edmund’s shoulder, switching to German again. he said.

  Edmund steeled himself. “I know.”

  Istvan took wing, scattering mud and wire. He circled them once, then darted out over the water and back – getting his bearings, no doubt. He was an experienced flier who had crossed oceans before. They didn’t want to end up in Tornado Alley or somewhere else equally far off course.

  The Tyger padded up closer to Kyra, rain ripples solidifying to ice that cracked beneath him. He showed his screen to her; she smiled. She resettled the bags slung across her shoulders.

  “OK,” she said.

  She started to dance.

  Edmund blinked.

  It was no more than a gentle rhythm, at first: a bobbing of the head, and then a shifting of the shoulders, side to side. The Conduit held up her hands before her, drawing and pushing at the air in slow circular motions. Her feet stayed planted where they were: in the mud.

  It wasn’t complicated, and it wasn’t especially graceful, and the rain and cold and bags she was carrying did nothing to enhance it…