Ezra noticed Malachi struggling to carry long boards made of some hard material similar to the artificial wood he knew from Roue, so he offered his help.
“Thanks,” said the guard, immediately accepting Ezra’s support. “I just need to take them over here. Yes, this is good, thank you.”
“What’s going on?”
“I thought you knew,” he said, walking back across the dais to grab another board, fully expecting Ezra’s help again. “There’s a celebration tonight. For your friends. You, I suppose. We don’t get many reasons to celebrate here so we don’t miss a chance. It helps forget about the end of the world, you know?” Malachi laughed.
“I didn’t know,” he said, grabbing another board and walking back to the dais. He noticed the boards were actually tables, and were being set up by other volunteers. “I thought we were in some kind of hurry here. Guess I was wrong.”
Though he’d love to forget about Lys and—as Malachi put it—the end of the world, as well the possibility of its repetition, Ezra was surprised that Garros and Erin had forgotten about the urgency of their mission. This was no time to celebrate; a destructive god was waiting to rise, and could do so at any moment.
Once more, he suspected there was something he wasn’t being told. He rubbed his bald head, still entirely new to the feeling.
“You look like you could use some time to relax,” said Malachi, setting down the board. “No offense.”
“None taken, but it doesn’t matter what I could use; our mission is bigger than any of that.”
Malachi smiled. “Thank you for your help. My father is at his post but if you want to go back to my home to get some rest, or some food, please do—you don’t have to stay here. I understand you did some important work this morning, that you even got hurt, and I want to offer my sincere gratitude.”
The armored man bowed to him; it made Ezra uncomfortable, so he took that chance to leave. He had no interest in a celebration, even if it was in their honor.
After leaving, he realized that he had nowhere to go; killing time wasn’t something he ever enjoyed doing, especially after having found an actual sense of purpose—something very few people left on the world could claim.
His boredom took him to explore the city a little bit more, but he quickly found that there was not much more to Clairvert than he had already seen; the vast majority of the city was housed within the one hall, and his only space of exploration involved getting lost among the many clusters of houses and huts, scattered in many different levels of height.
It didn’t take him long to see almost all that there was to see, but he had to admit that what he found was uniquely beautiful. If Roue was a city built to emulate the old world, Clairvert was one out of a whole other one. Everything, from the odd architecture of the inner city, the strange patterns and markings on the floors, and even the way the people dressed and talked, was entirely alien.
Maybe Clairvert was also displaced from space, not only from time.
Eventually, Ezra found himself in the atrium, looking at Clairvert from its entrance: how the streets and buildings rose up from the ground to great heights, almost touching the distant ceiling, was an amazing testimony to William Heath’s patience and leadership. Kerek may have fallen, millions might have died with it, but something was left in its wake.
“Why aren’t you back there?” Farren said, suddenly standing next to Ezra. He had been leading a small troop of other guards, all of whom kept walking when the captain peeled away from the group.
“I don’t know. I wanted to be alone for a while.”
“I’m sorry about what happened back there,” he said, and motioned at his own head. “The leader of your group, the big guy, he told me about it.”
“Garros isn’t the leader—Erin is, if anyone. And I’m fine. It’s just hair, and burns. I’m fine.”
“All right,” he said, looking away. “You said you wanted to be alone so I’ll let you get right to it. Thank you again, for your service.”
Farren walked away, cape swaying behind him.
With a sigh, Ezra looked back at the maze leading outside, and took the first entryway he saw, easily slipping among the folding stones to meet the wasteland. The sun was setting, and Lazarus was still vigilant, standing tall and surrounded by four other Creuxen, all of which were down on one knee.
Don’t believe the lies. The lies are inside.
Ezra was startled when he saw Elena standing by the entrance of the tunnel leading to her refuge.
“What are you doing here; they’re going to see you!” Ezra looked back at the atrium, hoping not to see Farren standing there. The shape of the huge wall led his eyes up to the watchman’s post, where Solis would be keeping guard. “They’ll throw you into that damn prison, or farther out into the wasteland.”
“So what if they do?” she said, looking up at her with the beautiful eyes that caught the last sunlight and made it dance.
“So you won’t last very long.” Ezra grabbed her by the arm and pulled her towards the hidden tunnel to her refuge. Elena chuckled when she grabbed him by the hand instead. It was cold.
“Ezra, I like that you want to take care of me, but I know when I’m being seen,” she said when they were inside the tunnel. “Is it something you usually do? Take care of others?”
“No—well, maybe,” he said, leading the way deeper into the passageway. “Not until recently, I suppose. Before that I didn’t really do anything with my life. I was okay with letting the Laani win.”
They came to the small, dark chamber at the end of the tunnel and she sat down on the floor. Small patches of grass had grown next to the walls; he hadn’t noticed them the first time he was there.
“What changed?” she asked, and invited him to sit next to her.
He sat down. “Zenith. Nandi. Everything.”
“Well, you make a very good guardian.”
“You wouldn’t say that if you knew what happened back in Roue—that’s the city I’m from, though I bet you already knew that. Somehow.” She nodded, and grabbed his hand again; it made him feel warm and welcome; exactly how he needed to feel. “I did something very stupid, and put a lot of people in danger. I thought I’d never get to pilot Nandi again.”
“I’m sure it was an accident. You took care of those monsters in Kerek to protect me specifically. Remember?”
Ezra looked at her and sighed. “You know, I really don’t like it when people lie to me. It’s hurt me a lot before. I feel comfortable with you, even if we just met—”
“Right? Me too,” she purred.
“What I mean,” he said when his voice returned, “is that I get the feeling that you’re lying to me—you’re not telling me something. How do you know about Roue and the Creux? Why did they really exile you? No—are you even from Clairvert?”
“Ezra—I don’t like being lied to any more than you do. Everything I’ve said . . . I couldn’t lie to you. Even if I wanted to.” She squeezed his hand. “I don’t want you to worry about me; there are more important things. If you want to take care of me, just remember: you’re welcome here, but they can’t see me. You understand?”
“I won’t tell anyone; I promise,” he said. “I’m sorry about Garros, the last time. You can trust him. I’ll talk to him about it.”
When she smiled again, letting him know that she forgave him and trusted him, Ezra thought about kissing her, yet he couldn’t; he still remembered the last lips that had touched his, and it made him sick.
Sometimes, the solutions to our problems come at the end.
He still remembered Tessa’s exact words.
“Don’t scowl, now,” Elena said, and advanced for him. Her lips met his and it was like they melted together for one second before he drew himself back.
“I’m sorry. Elena—I can’t do this right now,” he said.
“No, I understand. I apologize.”
“But listen: we’re planning something!” he said, louder than he intended. “Cl
airvert might not be safe anymore, so we’re going to move everyone in the city elsewhere, to one of the islands in the wasteland. You just need to hold on a little bit longer, while Jena makes a plan, and you’ll be able to join the others. Do you have a family inside?”
She didn’t say anything, and he was disappointed when, instead of showing enthusiasm before the prospect, she changed the subject, as though she had no faith in it. “I heard they were preparing themselves for some kind of celebration inside. Maybe you should join them. Wish I could come with you,” she said.
Ezra nodded and rose to his feet, careful not to hit his head on the stone wall. “Even if you don’t believe me, I’ll make sure you don’t have to stay in here much longer. I promise.”
When Ezra slipped back into Clairvert, the celebration was well on its way. He could hear music being played, and could see people dancing in pairs around the pillar. The closer he got to the party, the more he realized that it was a remarkably joyous occasion, and it made him wonder if it was really in their honor.
He finally reached the dais. People danced, stomping hundreds of flower petals with their restless feet, and releasing a sweet scent that filled the air. If he was in a better mood, he would be happy to stay. Instead, he decided to go.
But when he turned away to go back to Solis’ house, he almost crashed against Solis himself. The man had a canteen in his hand, and smelled of alcohol. “Where are you going, boy? Don’t you know it’s bad luck to leave a wedding early?”
“A wedding? Who’s getting married?”
Ezra turned around and, when some of the dancers cleared some space for him to see the other end of the dais, he finally got a look at the newlyweds.
Garros and Erin sat together in tall chairs, holding hands. He had never seen them smile the way they were smiling.
It was difficult to be angry at them, but Ezra had somehow found a way. He sat at the edge of the dais, almost sulking, wondering why they had kept such an important moment in their lives a secret. It had been a last-second choice, not something thoroughly planned, and it had been Garros’ idea.
Garros himself told Ezra after he stumbled next to him and Jena and sat down, clay cup of foaming ale in his hand. “It’s something we wanted to do for a long time. And then we had this man who had the power to do it, even if under some alien denomination, and we took it.”
“There are more important things to do,” Ezra said, and Jena shook her head.
“Not to me, though,” replied Garros and took a swig of his drink. He offered some to Ezra, and he reluctantly took a drink. It was incredibly sweet, and he felt its effects immediately.
“I wish you had told us,” he said, suddenly wanting a drink.
“Don’t know why; this is between me and her,” he looked back at Erin, who sat in her chair, talking to Farren—she was glowing. Garros smiled and turned to Jena. “I know that you heard, by the way. Both of you. Back in the forest with Lazarus, what I said to Erin, about our kid.”
Ezra didn’t know what to say, but there was no point in feigning ignorance, so he remained quiet.
“You haven’t stopped looking at Erin’s belly since then, Jena. It’s adorable.” Jena’s face was red. “But she’s not pregnant; it’s just a plan we have—we really want to have a kid. That’s all.”
“Congratulations,” Ezra said, finally realizing that he had no business telling either Garros or Erin to involve him in their lives any more than they wanted. “I sincerely think you guys will be happy.”
“If the world doesn’t end, right?” Garros replied, and it was then that Ezra knew that he was drunk; the man wouldn’t have joked about something like that otherwise. Garros took the following silence to look back at his wife, who immediately sensed his gaze. From afar, she did the motion he had seen them do in the Creux: fists together, then the thumbs-up.
This time, Ezra heard Garros whisper: Stick together, we’ll be all right.
He understood then; they had turned two standard Creux hand signals into a romantic gesture.
Before Ezra could tell him he finally understood their private signal, Garros went back to Erin. Ezra saw him pick her up and throw her high up, catch her, kiss her. She laughed when their lips came together.
“This is so strange,” Jena said. “The concept itself: they’re married. People in Roue don’t get married that much anymore. I wonder if it’s more common in here.”
“I doubt it,” said Ezra. “Where’s Akiva, by the way?”
She shook her head and shrugged. “I haven’t seen him—I was too busy to care for him. I started doing some sweeps, asked around about how many people lived in the city, tried to see how many of them would be willing to leave if William doesn’t, asked about who could influence them. I haven’t gotten very far. I’m really going to take you on your word, when you said you’d help.”
“Of course I will,” he said.
“It’s not going to be easy.”
“I would imagine not.”
She smiled.
A gloved hand appeared between them. It was Malachi, offering his hand to Jena. “Can I ask you for a dance, if Akiva doesn’t mind.”
Ezra looked up at Malachi; he was nervous, unable to keep eye contact with Jena. She took too long to reply, caught off guard, and Malachi began to draw his hand back. When she saw him do this, she took it.
With a relieved smile, Malachi pulled her back and they were lost among the dancers. It seemed weird to Ezra that these people would celebrate so intensely the wedding of two people they didn’t know.
At least the feeling was contagious; Ezra was smiling when he walked to find a drink, past dancers and drunken men telling filthy jokes. When he returned, he found Malachi sitting alone where Jena had sat.
“What happened? I thought you were dancing with her,” he asked and sat down next to him after failing to locate Jena.
“We were, but after a few bars she just took off,” he said and didn’t look as sad as Ezra thought he would be. “I put her in an uncomfortable situation, I think. I didn’t mean to make an advance, or anything; she just seemed sad.”
“Did she?” Ezra took a drink of the ale. It was sweet and strong. “I didn’t notice.”
“I think she was. I was talking to her earlier today, before the wedding. She wants to move everyone in the city to the wasteland?”
“Not the wasteland. One of the oases—there are these . . . islands out there, like spots of land that aren’t sick,” said Ezra. “It’s hard to explain.”
“I’m not sure it can be done, but I’d be glad to help,” said Malachi. “Since I became an adult I’ve tried to make the people of this city happier. I wasn’t there when they moved from Kerek, but . . . look at them.”
Ezra looked at the crowd: they were dancing, drinking, singing. They looked—
“They’re not happy,” said Malachi. “This is their island, this moment: a small space where things are okay and where the world didn’t die. I believe you guys, and your Colossus, can help us go back out there someday. Jena has a good idea. I’d like to leave because I don’t like living here, knowing we can lose our minds at any point, be . . . exiled.”
“Are you okay?” Ezra asked when he noticed Malachi’s sudden inability to speak.
“I’m sorry, I don’t mean to overshare; it must be the damned ale—I shouldn’t be drinking it at all,” he said and put his cup aside. “I lost my sister to the Asili not long ago. She was older than me, and she was going to wed Captain Farren; I think she was the only reason why I’m wearing this armor at all.”
“How did it happen?” Ezra asked.
“Well, Farren selected me, trained me—”
“No, Malachi, with your sister.”
“Ah. Well, the captain noticed how she began to speak nonsense, talking to herself. He tried to protect her, cover for her, but then he couldn’t. They were going to throw her in the Caduceus, but . . . like we said, many people choose to test their luck out there, and then they’re g
one. Jena reminded me of her. They look alike.” Malachi wiped his eyes with his gloves. “I miss her.”
Ezra looked back at the Atrium, where he had last met Elena, and then at Malachi. “Malachi, what was her name?”
“I’d . . . I’d rather not talk about it. I’m sorry for laying this on you, Ezra. I guess I thought I’d let you know why things aren’t as good in here as you might have thought. I’ll just go home, so I suppose I’ll see you later. Please enjoy your friends’ wedding.”
From that moment on, he couldn’t enjoy the wedding; all he could think about was Elena.
ф
Ezra wasn’t sure at what time he had retired to bed; all he knew was that when he did, the party was still happening and showed no signs of dying. Walking home, past the atrium, he thought of Elena. The connection his head had made about her relationship with Malachi, Solis, and Captain Farren had troubled him. Suddenly she wasn’t as much a mystery, and he could put a story behind her, and it was not a happy one.
He had to make sure that she was indeed Malachi’s sister before telling him that she was, in fact, alive, and closer to him than he imagined.
He considered visiting her, but leaving Clairvert in the middle of the night could raise some eyebrows and he wouldn’t risk it; it would be dangerous for both. Instead, he just went to Malachi’s home and took his spot on the long mat they had placed for him, Akiva, and Garros. Neither one of the other occupants were there, and he didn’t expect he’d see them again that night.
He woke up alone, head heavy and hurting, several hours later.
To his surprise, he found Garros and Erin, as well as Jena, having breakfast in the section of Solis’ hut that could be described as the kitchen. He meant to ask William how exactly they grew their food—there didn’t seem to be any fertile ground whatsoever in this fortress of stone.
The Unfinished World (The Armor of God Book 2) Page 18
