by Rabia Gale
He fell quiet thinking of that silent battle against time and nature. Those shahkayan, working almost blindly with ka they could barely sense and magic they could barely understand, laboring all those years…
Newvale sniffed and blew into a large handkerchief. “H-how splendid,” he said tearily.
Rafe threw an alarmed look at Coop. Coop explained, “Newvale’s rather an emotional sort. And interested in all kinds of mysticism. Dreadfully gullible, too.”
“I am not!”
“Oh, yes, you are. You were hoodwinked by that medium with her basket of slimy fish guts. As if your dead mother would talk to you using entrails. Have sense, man!”
Newvale muttered something.
“You’ve done it now, Rafe,” said Coop. “He’ll be haring off on a pilgrimage across the Divide, mark my words. And we just got him to settle down. Even built him two labs to work in.”
“I’ll be back,” Newvale said meekly.
“There’s much to learn in the Talar.” Rafe smiled. “When you go, tell me. I have friends there.”
Sable. What was he thinking? He couldn’t ask her favors with Isabella in Karzov’s hands.
Not for long. I’ll find her. I’ll find a way.
“Ready for the Tors?” asked Coop.
And then the answer flashed through his mind.
Of course! How bloody obvious!
Not to mention stupidly dangerous.
“Yes,” said Rafe, meaning it in more ways than one.
Rafe and Theo shared a mostly silent meal in their quarters that night. Theo was still tired and recovering, while Rafe’s mind was still on the Tors Lumena.
The Tower had dominated the rest of the day. It had been a whitish blur even in his greyscale sight as Coop showed off the New Hope agri-caves and cut-away terraces. The cavern Bryony had betrayed Rafe in had been enlarged and shaped into tiers. Plants grew densely in boxes and on platforms, or hung from sod-covered nets up above. Stone pathways wound around them, with a marble circle around the Tors.
Within the ring were the remnants of the defenses where the Renat Keys had all shattered, covered in glass to preserve the broken magic. The ossuary containing the dead kayan had been converted into a crypt with a slate roof and white-washed walls, plain yet denoting a somber respect.
One could not get within thirty feet of the Tors, Rafe noted. Guards patrolled the outer perimeter and stood sentry in tall towers around it.
Ironheart was taking no chances with their precious quartz.
The Tors itself had been polished to a glow so blinding that everyone in the vicinity wore dark-tinted goggles to protect their eyes. A complicated pulley system of shutters around it controlled the amount of light in the cavern.
An installation on an upper level, accessible only to those with the proper security clearances, filtered a portion of the ka within the Tors through layers of carefully-arranged quartz panels and spellwork. Ironheart stored the purified ka produced at the end of this long, arduous process into cut quartz crystals, which they then used to power their mage technology. Coop explained that it also contained a grounding system which funneled away excess ka from the pulses that affected even the Tors. Shimmerite rohkayan tended the installation; Rafe didn’t ask to speak with them or examine the process any closer.
Other thoughts loomed too large, and he had been content to let Coop’s monologue drive them to the back of his mind for a brief time.
The Ironheart people weren’t done yet. The Tors Lumena was still a work in progress, and Coop had showed off a number of architectural models in consideration for its future development. Rafe saw majid-inspired dome cities, an ambitious set of revolving cylinders around a Tors open to the air, and more. In yet another secure area, Coop enthused over prototypes, usually of a military nature, that used ka technology. Rafe was shown an array of inventions: battle armor, improved weaponry, even an all-terrain vehicle
But even with all the changes, it was still the same place that had branded itself into his soul and memory. The place all his ambitions and hopes had been bent on over two years ago. The place where Bryony had shot him. The place where Isabella had saved him.
Isabella, again.
His thoughts circled back constantly to her, probing the wound.
Rafe waited for the Tors to dominate the landscape of ka just as it did the cavern.
Soon.
“Marissa,” said Theo suddenly. “Did you… did you send a letter?”
With difficulty, Rafe dragged his mind back to the present and conjured a mental image of his sister-in-law. It had been years since he’d seen her, and his mind painted a picture of a short plumpish woman with a concerned expression who’d sent him an assortment of Grenfeld goods—usually soap—every few months, as if the city was devoid of such commodities.
He nodded. “Yes, Coop did. We thought it prudent to not mention my involvement.”
Theo stirred the nourishing broth in his bowl absently. “I would like to see her and the girls again,” he said with the heartfelt simplicity of a family man.
“So you will. And soon,” Rafe assured him.
“And Rafe,” Theo continued, forging on, “don’t be too angry with Bryony.”
Rafe couldn’t help his short, disbelieving laugh. “How can I not be?”
“You don’t understand what it was like for her.” Theo fidgeted with his napkin. “You were only a baby when she was sent away. But I remember. I remember my younger sister who made Father laugh and Mother smile. You’re surprised, I know, but that’s how it was. She was their darling—and Father pushed her out of the family. She wasn’t even five at the time.”
“Because of me,” said Rafe heavily. He’d been born—and his family had changed for the worse. He couldn’t recall ever seeing their cold, distant father laugh. His mother had always been faded and quiet, a ghost of herself.
“No. It was Father’s choice. I know what the laws were, but there were ways around it. She didn’t have to lose her place in the family. But you do see, don’t you? You do see why she has so much rage and bitterness?”
He did see. Still, he had felt too much guilt over Bryony for too long. His anger had freed him from that cage, and he wasn’t about to return to it yet. “Bryony’s no longer a child, but a woman grown. How long can we make excuses for her, Theo? Selene knows you and I both tried to make things easier for her. She didn’t want a place at Grenfeld, and she didn’t want my help. She wants revenge, and that’s not something I can give her.”
“I understand that.” Theo sighed. “But these past two years I’ve had ample opportunity to reflect on how my sister and brother were both lost to me. For good, I thought.”
There was a pregnant pause. Rafe, reading it, lifted his eyebrows at his brother.
Theo said, “I want you to come back home with me, Rafe.”
Home. It’d been a long time since he’d had one. He’d filled the void up with other things: work and study, adventure and exploration, testing himself again and again in new roles against new challenges.
With a stock of magebane, I could go back to Grenfeld. The realization was a shock. Quartz sickness and a rocky relationship with his parents had kept him away from the place. But now those were no longer excuses.
Even so.
“There’s still Isabella,” he said aloud.
“The girl who was with us on the island?” Theo asked. “The one who was captured?”
“Yes.”
“Hmmm.” Soup splashed as Theo dropped his spoon in the bowl. A plate scraped along the table. Rafe smiled. Theo was an unassuming man, but not quiet in his movements. The sounds were comforting, almost homey. “Leonius mentioned her when he wrote me.”
Leonius. Not Uncle or Great-Uncle, just Leonius. Thinking back on it, Rafe couldn’t recall a single time Theo had at all been enthusiastic about the uncle Rafe adored. Theo treated the great man with deferential politeness but showed no preference for either his company or his opinion.
; And Leo had thought the older Grenfeld son to be nothing more than a dull-witted farmer, suited only to tend the agri-caves. Rafe and his uncle had come to a mutual agreement not to talk of Theo. Rafe was fond of his only brother.
“What did he say?” Rafe kept his tone neutral.
Theo shrugged, knocking against the table and making it jump. “Sorry,” he said sheepishly. “To be honest, I didn’t understand half of what our uncle was ranting about. Something about you being a traitor and a dupe, which is just silly. And that some woman had seduced you.”
Rafe snorted. “Leo doesn’t know Isabella. Club me on the head? Yes. Seduce me? Not her style.”
“She’s your friend?”
Again, that strange jolt. Friend. Like home, friendship had become a rare commodity. “Ye-es. I guess you could say that.”
It seemed all wrong though. Friendship was both more superficial and intimate than what he shared with Isabella. He couldn’t imagine hanging out with her at a tavern, but there was no one else he’d rather have at his back.
There was crumbling sound as Theo tore bread into chunks. “I don’t want what happened with Bryony to repeat itself.”
“It won’t. If Isabella became my enemy, she’d tell me to my face. She wouldn’t put a smiling mask on her hatred or sweeten her poison with kind words.”
“You’re going after her, aren’t you.” Statement, not question. “How soon will you leave?”
That was Theo all over. No nagging, no extended recriminations, no cold silences or stormy tears or drama.
A person who cared for you and still let you go? Rafe felt that he had never appreciated his brother enough.
“Tonight.”
The ka was calling.
Late at night, Rafe sat on a park bench in New Hope, listening to the sounds of a city settling to sleep.
The crowds were gone, the buildings dark. Diggers and pushers were parked in construction sites, the hoots of trains and trolleys came further and further apart.
As New Hope fell silent, Rafe’s ka senses awoke. Ka floated in threads in the air and lay in strands upon lamp posts, trashcans, and vehicles. It gleamed like hidden gems within diggers, heating units, and water purifiers—Shimmer rohkayan had brought many such devices out to the wider world when their soap-bubble city fell.
Inside its dark mountain shell, the Tors Lumena blazed with all the colors of ka, a boiling sea of fiery reds, searing yellows, vibrant greens, and pulsing blues. Ka clashed, tangled into knots, which were torn apart in moments.
Ka jetted out of the Tors in a massive spray, showering Rafe, shrouded in a safety net of green. Small droplets got through, burning him where they touched. The ground shook underfoot—ka quakes were a problem even here in New Hope.
Rafe thought of the ka pulses in the Talar, the Clearwater lakes that had boiled dry, the Divide that was now not traversable for many a day.
The bravado of the rohkayan, the fears of the shahkayan.
The jitter of Salerus stuck under-disc in an orrery in Shimmer, the wobble in Selene’s orbit that had Newvale puckering his forehead.
The world was dying and the Tors Lumena was not enough to save it.
But where to start?
With one person.
There was enough ka in the Tors to launch a hundred ships to the moon. Enough ka to keep an island city afloat in the sky. Enough ka to power a thousand offensive weapons and rain destruction upon any of the cities on the disc.
Enough ka to rescue a person.
Rafe sat with his legs stretched out, walking stick across his knees. His hands rested lightly on it, he leaned his head back. To a passerby, he’d look relaxed, a vagrant snatching just a bit of a rest.
Rohkayan spent all their time fiddling with complicated devices to find, store, and channel ka. Shahkayan danced, sang, chanted, and underwent strict discipline to finetune themselves to even sense ka.
He was different. He didn’t need to go out and find ka. It found him.
The ka of the Tors strained against its crystalline bonds, like wild animals throwing themselves upon the bars of their cage.
He fancied that it knew him, recognized him from before.
Two years of working with ka had taught him to trust his instinct. He wouldn’t call the stuff sentient, but it was scorched close.
And this ka was eager to devour him.
Not yet, though, he told it wryly. You might get me one day, but not now. Not when I still have work to do.
He pushed the ka to the back of his mind, keeping half-a-wary eye on it. He wouldn’t turn his back on a wild creature, he wouldn’t make that mistake with ka.
He brought an image of Isabella to the fore-front of his mind. He heard again her amused velvet tones from the first time she spoke to him in the basement of a ruined theater in Blackstone. He remembered the feel of her hand in his as they raced through the underground maze of Shimmer. He imagined her dark eyes, her odd pale hair, and her porcelain skin. Fine skin, the kind of complexion that would be admired in Oakhaven society.
Tall and lean and athletic. Looked rather good in a dress, could flirt surprisingly well, though her patience for it was thin. Disguised herself in layers of powder and rouge, clothing and wigs, to pretend to be a middle-aged Marquis, bored and jaded and obstructive.
She moved like a dancer, even when she fought.
In his mind, she was a cool silver light, steady, ever-burning.
They shared a bond.
Rafe pushed at it, stretched it. In his mind’s eye, the bond was a bridge, slender and arched, with the too-tall, too-narrow proportions that characterized the architecture of the Point. The Point, with its sharp peaks piercing a star-scattered sky. Its smell of ozone and silver and air so cold it hurt on the way down to your lungs.
That, too, was a part of Isabella.
Deep blues and purples crept out from his personal store within the stick. Senses and memory, reinforcing his image of Isabella, strengthening the bridge he was building to find her. The bridge rippled as he went across it, dissolving into mist here and there. He patched it up with ka; it greedily sucked up all of the cool colors. Now the bridge no longer gleamed silver under the cold stars. Moonlight struck sapphire and amethyst from its depths.
Still not long enough. Rafe stood at the edge, his toes hanging over void. Ka misted around him.
Ah, well, he’d expected this. That’s why he had come to the source.
He reached to the back of his mind, to the wild ka that pushed and howled. He created bridle and reins from his own tamed ka.
And then he opened the cage.
Ka surged.
Even though he knew it was coming, even though he’d braced and shielded himself, it was still a shock. Alternating waves of scorching heat and icy coldness swept over him. Ka writhed all around, sparking like electric wires underwater.
Rafe stumbled, recovered his footing, steadied himself. It was not time to fight the ka or purify it.
It was time to run with it.
He snagged blue and purple and yellow. He grabbed green for stability. His own ka burrowed into these, imbuing them with a sense of his own purpose.
And then he unleashed the flood of colors onto his half-made bridge.
The ka turned to shapes in his mind, to creatures known to him from books. It turned to scaled and feathered dragons, to a bird dripping rainbow-colored flames, to wild-eyed foam-flecked horses with thundering hooves, to snarling great cats spotted and striped and eating the ground in huge lopes.
The stampede had Isabella’s scent in their nose. It thundered across his bridge, towing Rafe, and launched into the void, scattering shadows and banishing darkness.
There was one stomach-dropping moment as sky and ground wheeled around Rafe. A sickening moment as they switched places, as Selene raced around her disc, as a violent, searing Salerus shot angry rays at him, as distant stars sang their high songs, as half-seen beings of white traveled paths he could barely see…
… and then
the ka-propelled kyra bond pushed him into a place of rock and shadowy quartz and tortured magic and…
… Isabella.
She slumped in chains, her spirit dimmed to a tiny silver spark. Shapes, quivering with malice and hunger, slithered all around her.
Isabella! Wake up! Brace yourself! They’re coming! He screamed his soundless thoughts at her. Here he had no voice to warn her with, no hands to shake her.
But, look. She had heard. She raised her eyes.
He looked straight into them. And, looking back at him from Isabella’s eyes, was the krin.
Chapter Thirteen
Isabella
ISABELLA HUNG FROM CHAINS. They lifted her arms above her head, forcing her to stand on her toes. Her feet were manacled together and a short length of chain attached them to a wall a few feet behind her. She was bent forward; only the cuffs around her wrist kept her from pitching on to her face.
She’d been kept like this for days—or an eternity.
Isabella had lost track of time in this dark underground cave. She had a sensation of great pressure above her head from the weight of rock. It wasn’t completely dark, but there wasn’t much to see besides rock.
If she stretched her senses, she could make out more. The sullen gleam of a quartz so grey to be almost black. The brush of voices and the echoes of footsteps across her nerves.
And the krin.
She could always feel the krin.
Feel them flowing through the walls. Feel them dipping out to look at her. Feel the burn of their hunger and the slice of their hate.
The krin within nattered. If she listened, Isabella could’ve made out words in it.
She didn’t listen.
You never listened to krin. That was the first step to madness.
The chains resisted her kyra. When she pushed her senses outward, it was like walking through thick, knee-deep mud that only rose higher and higher. The tarnished, twisted metal itself felt tormented, full of pain and rage and malice. It gripped her skin cruelly where it touched, raising welts and creating small burns. Her skin bubbled and cracked and she felt the trickle of slow poison into her arms and legs.
