by Carrie Ryan
Just dive in with both feet, her mother’s voice sounded in her head.
Before wizard and walking rosebush could continue their verbal sparring, Marrill sloshed forward and hauled herself out of the pool. “What my friend means to say is, good news, everyone! The Prophecy has ended and we won! Go, Meressians!” She paused, fist pumped in the air, a huge smile glued on her face. “And also we kind of need your help?”
Hedgecaw snorted. He didn’t make a move. But he didn’t make a hostile move, either, so that was good. “Go on,” he said.
As quickly as she could, Marrill explained the situation. She made little whoosh sounds as she described how they’d beaten the Lost Sun and captured its essence in the wish orb. Her voice caught as she described how Ardent, their former friend and crewmate, had used that same polluted orb to become the Master of the Iron Ship, their mortal enemy. She posed as a statue to illustrate the destructive power of the Iron Tide, and clapped her hands together pleadingly as she explained—as best she could—that they needed the Evershear, among other things, to stop all this and save the Pirate Stream.
At first, the Meressians appeared skeptical. But as Marrill talked, she could see them leaning in to listen, could feel them warming to her. Only Hedgecaw remained unmoved. It seemed like every word she said to him was a pebble flung at a solid brick wall. But as she neared the end of her speech, even he finally nodded.
“Very well,” he said at last. He glared at Serth out of one narrow eye.
“So you believe us?” Marrill asked hopefully.
“Of course,” Hedgecaw said. His voice was an iron file dragged across rough stone. “Word travels fast these days. If we didn’t already know of the Lost Sun’s passing, I’d have cut you down the moment you dropped through the roof.”
Marrill let out a nervous laugh. But Hedgecaw held up one purple-gloved finger. “I believe you,” he clarified. “But can we really trust him?” He swung his spine-studded finger toward Serth.
Marrill took a deep breath. This she understood. Serth had done a whole lot of terrible things. Almost all the terrible things, actually. And it didn’t help that he looked exactly like the villain in a cartoon story. Cloaked all in black, straight-backed and unperturbed, black-tear trails etched into high, arrogant cheeks—it was hard to see him as anything other than awful.
But then, the evil Serth had been nothing like this. He’d been stooped, constantly sobbing, endlessly reciting scenes of a future that had been shoved fully formed into his head. Evil Serth had never done anything to try and stop the destruction of the Stream. She wasn’t sure she liked the new Serth a whole lot better, but one thing was clear: He’d changed.
And there was one other thing. She looked the thorny Meressian dead in the eye. “He saved our lives,” she said. “We can trust him.” At least for now, she reminded herself.
Hedgecaw seemed to ponder this, but only for a moment. Another round of shouts broke out from the main entrance. Marrill strained to see what was happening outside.
“Master Hedgecaw, they’re nearly on us!” cried a panicked guard, racing through the crowd to the thorny leader. “We have to shut the main gates!”
“They just keep coming,” Hedgecaw muttered. “I’ve never seen anything like it.” He wheeled immediately, whipping his hand through the air. “BRING IN OUR FORCES!” he shouted at the top of his lungs. “SEAL THE DOORS AND PREPARE FOR SIEGE!”
The other Meressians jumped to action, racing to the big gates, securing arms and armor. Hedgecaw barked more orders to various guards and couriers, sending them scrambling to one task or another.
Marrill bit her lip as she watched the massive doors swing closed, effectively trapping them inside. She hoped Fin had already gotten ahold of the Evershear because it sure didn’t look like they had a lot of time.
“Don’t worry,” Hedgecaw told her. “Flight-of-Thorns Citadel has never fallen.” He placed a hand on her shoulder reassuringly. Even through her shirt and his gloves, Marrill could feel the muted points of briars on the palms of his hands.
“Who are they?” Marrill asked.
Hedgecaw gritted his teeth and shook his head. “Not really sure. They just showed up and started marching on us. Only thing we know is they call themselves the Rise.”
Marrill’s heart seized with dread. She stumbled back a step, feeling the blood drain from her face. No wonder the Meressians kept falling back. The Rise were invincible. Unbeatable. At birth, their weakness was cut away from them and used to create their Fade twins. So long as their Fade still lived, a Rise soldier was literally unstoppable.
It was only a matter of time before the Citadel fell. With them inside it.
Serth sliced a hand sharply through the air, cutting away any distractions. “There is a candle with no wick, made from wax that smells like whispered secrets. A string of red, heart-shaped pearls that are sweet to taste and feel like you ought to remember where they came from. A blade that can cut through anything—I imagine that will stand out. And an ornate mirror that reflects everyone who looks in it as a fox.” His words were quick, insistent. “We will need all these, and we will need them now.”
Hedgecaw’s lip curled, ever so slightly. “The candle and pearls are in the spiral galleries, below. I’ll have them fetched for you.” He flicked his hand at a big, bull-faced Meressian beside him, who nodded to two others. All three walked over to the edge of the fountain and knelt, two of them working to draw out the still floating sail.
“’Scuse me,” Bull Face grunted, ducking down beside Marrill. He made a sign with his hands that she couldn’t quite follow, then touched the fountain with a thin metal rod. To Marrill’s shock, the water drained away, revealing a spiral staircase. Bull Face skipped down the steps, quickly disappearing.
“The Evershear is in the galleries above,” Hedgecaw rasped. “You’ll have to get it yourselves. And the Vulpine Mirror, I’m afraid, sank with our Temple Ship at the Khaznot Quay… thanks to you, I believe.” His tongue flicked across the ends of chiseled teeth. Even it was barbed with thorns.
Serth sighed. “We’ll make do without it, then. Frankly, I only wanted it because I like the way I look with fur.” He glanced down at Marrill with one eyebrow arched wryly.
Marrill gaped at him. Did Serth just make a joke?
She shook her head, focusing. “No worries about the Evershear, either—we’ve got it taken care of.”
She’d barely finished speaking when another guard raced over to them, saluting Hedgecaw. “Our gates are closed and sealed, Master Hedgecaw. But the enemy just keeps on coming. They’ll breach soon.”
“What?” Hedgecaw spat. “Already? How is that possible?”
The guard gulped. “They just… they just don’t stop, Master. They brush aside our blows like we’re tickling them. At this rate, I fear they’ll be battering our doors down any—”
Ka-THOOM!
The whole chamber shook. The whole Citadel even. Suddenly, the clamor of the Meressian army went silent.
Marrill gulped. The Rise were upon them.
It’ll be okay, she told herself.
Ka-THOOOOOOM!
Hedgecaw scraped a barbed thumb over the tip of his thorned chin. “No one has ever breached Flight-of-Thorns,” he said. “Ever. That’s why we brought the last of the Prophetic relics here.”
Armed guards fell into place.
Every breath held, waiting.
We’ll just explain to them we’re here to stop the Iron Tide, Marrill reasoned.
Ka-THOOOOOOOOOOOOOOM!
Hedgecaw looked to Serth. “If you truly have changed, wizard, we could use your help about now.”
But Serth merely shook his head. “I fear I don’t have much to offer against the enemy you face.”
Marrill squeezed her hands together, willing the doors to hold just a moment longer.
Even the Rise have to be in favor of stopping the Iron Tide. Right?
Ka-RAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAASH!
The great do
ors at the end of the hall smashed and splintered. Marrill covered her face, half expecting to be hit by flying shrapnel. Fortunately, there was nothing. Nothing but shouts and the stamping of feet as the Rise rushed in, quickly filling the already crowded chamber.
“Hold!” shouted a familiar voice. Too familiar. It was Fin’s. Only harder, colder—sharpened.
Carefully, she peeked between her fingers. A contingent of Rise stood stock-still, like terra-cotta soldiers, arrayed in a neat military column. On either side, they held banners bearing the sigil of their leader: the living, all-consuming fire that was the Salt Sand King. The Meressians held in a circle around them, weapons leveled. Fear and uncertainty flashed in their eyes.
A figure swept down the pathway created by the rigid figures of the invading army. It was Vell, Fin’s Rise. He was Fin’s mirror image, if Fin had been shipped off to a military school at birth and then raised to have no feelings. Vell was cruel where Fin was kind, arrogant where Fin was self-conscious.
And he was the Crest of the Rise—the leader of this unstoppable army.
“They’re here,” declared a dark-haired Rise girl next to Vell. Marrill didn’t recognize her. But something about her made her look down at the scrap of sail still tied to her wrist.
There, smeared and waterlogged, was a sketch of the girl. Fig—Fade—Friend, read Marrill’s own handwriting beneath it. She looked back up. The features were the same, without doubt. Crueler, harsher, perhaps, but still the same. With one major difference: This girl was definitely not a friend.
“Which means our Fades won’t be far,” the girl said. Something was wrong with her, Marrill realized. Half her face was duller than the other, mottled with the gray of tarnished silver.
“Indeed,” Vell agreed. “Go and fetch them.”
Marrill mustered her courage. As awful as the Rise were, she reminded herself, they would understand the danger of the Iron Tide. Who knew, they might even help!
She stepped forward. “Listen,” she started.
Vell turned to look at her full on. But just like the girl, something was wrong with him. One of his eyes was dull, lifeless. Silver streaked down the side of his face.
The word caught in her throat. Not silver, she realized.
Iron.
CHAPTER 6
An Exit
Fin tucked the sheathed Evershear through his belt next to his thief’s bag, then took off. Fig charged ahead of him as they tore down the corridors. The whole Citadel rocked under the force of the Rise. They had to get back to Marrill and get out before it was too late.
“It’s too late,” Fig gulped, skidding to a halt just inside the main chamber.
Fin stopped beside her. Beyond the big statue of Serth the Oracle, the massive doors hung open. The Rise filled the room. Vell stood at their head.
The situation looked bad. But they couldn’t just turn and run—Marrill was still there somewhere. He clenched his hands into fists. He refused to let the Rise take his best friend prisoner.
“Okay,” he told Fig under his breath. “We’ve faced Vell before—we can do it again.” He counted the rows of Rise soldiers. Five, ten, fifteen. Twenty soldiers per row. That added up to… a lot. He mentally recalculated.
Beside him, Fig cleared her throat.
He knew what she was going to say, and she had a point. “I know: Last time we had a whole army of Fade helping us, and this time it’s just you and me. But I think we can still make it work, if we… hmmm…” He paused, contemplating the exact amount of force it would take to push the big stone Serth off balance, and exactly where it might fall.
“Fin!” Fig hissed. He looked over at her. And then at the hand on her shoulder. And at the arm attached to that hand. And the body behind that arm.
The girl was identical to Fig in every way. Every way except for the cold eyes, the humorless smile, and the lifeless metal streaked across one cheek.
“Hello, Brother Fade,” the girl said.
“Karu, this is Fin,” Fig said through clenched teeth. “Fin, this is Karu, my Rise. She is… apparently going to take us prisoner now.”
Fin waved weakly. In the back of his head, his plans smashed to pieces, right alongside his hope. He shifted the Evershear on his hip, tucking the handle of it under the hem of his shirt so no one could see it.
Four seconds later, Karu marched them to the front of the Rise group.
Vell looked Fin over. “Brother Fade.” He spoke the words the way someone might spit out a sip of sour milk.
Fin frowned, but not at his Rise’s attitude. Dull metal marred his face and when he raised a hand, steel glinted beneath the cuff of his glove. “Shanks, what happened to you?” Fin asked.
“It’s all of them,” Marrill said behind him. “They’re all part metal now.”
Fin’s eyes flicked over the Rise troops. Sure enough, everywhere he looked, iron mottled the formerly human Rise. Iron fingers on flesh hands, iron ears on flesh heads. It melded with the skin so perfectly, it almost seemed like they’d been born with it.
“The Iron Tide,” Serth pronounced. “It can’t cover them completely because they are by definition unstoppable. But they can’t completely resist it, either. Fascinating, really.”
Fin shot an exasperated look at the tall wizard. Apparently, Ardent wasn’t the only one who found the wrong time to appreciate the dangers of the Pirate Stream.
“Well, it is,” Serth said with a shrug.
All at once, Vell laughed. It sounded weird, like someone who’d never laughed before imitating what he thought one should be like. “Too true,” he said. “Which is why we must get these two Fade to safety.”
Hedgecaw snarled. “And what happens to the rest of us?” All around, his guards gripped their weapons more tightly.
But Vell flicked his wrist. The column of Rise shimmered with motion. “Our King demands conquest. This place is conquered. The Rise are done. What happens here is up to him.”
From the rear of the Rise ranks, a figure appeared, seemingly floating over the heads of the soldiers. As it drew nearer, though, Fin could see that it was no flying wizard. It was a statue, slightly smaller than a man, held aloft by the Rise, who passed it forward between them.
When the statue reached the front, four tall Rise carried it to Vell. Once beside him, they knelt low, bringing it down nearly to his level without allowing it to touch the ground.
Up close, Fin recognized the hunched, beaked figure. It was the Salt Sand King in his nonburning form. Only he was made entirely of iron.
The Iron Tide, he realized, had taken the Salt Sand King.
Fin didn’t know how to feel. Part of him—most of him, honestly—was happy to see the Salt Sand King turned into metal. At least they wouldn’t have to fight a living fire today. And very little of him felt bad for the Rise. But there was something sad in the way Vell stroked a hand across the iron beak.
“You were right, my liege,” Fin watched his twin whisper. “They came, as you said they would. The old broken wizard can’t stay away from his things.”
Marrill stepped forward. “Vell,” she said. “Clearly you know better than the rest of us what the Iron Tide can do. If you help us, we can stop it—”
A whistle of steam cut her off. Fin felt sweat begin to bead across his brow. Suddenly, the room grew warmer. The iron fingers belonging to the beaked statue appeared to soften, to move. The iron edges began to glow.
“Blisterwinds,” Fin muttered. He’d spoken way too soon. The statue was melting. Somewhere within it, the unquenchable fire still burned. The Salt Sand King was alive.
Vell held up his hand. “The King passes judgment!” he cried.
“All right, no time for this,” Serth declared. “Children, down!”
The wizard didn’t have to tell Fin twice. He grabbed Marrill with one hand and Fig with the other, and together they dropped to the ground. Suddenly his back felt like it had been licked from heel to head by a stinging icicle. The tips of his ears burned with cold
.
He looked up. A wall of ice stood before him, so thin he could see right through it, but reaching all the way to the ceiling. On the other side, the statue of the Salt Sand King was solid once more, frost spreading over what had been hot metal moments before.
“That won’t hold. Let’s go,” Serth commanded. “Now!”
The kids scrabbled backward, tripping over their feet as they went. Hedgecaw motioned them frantically toward the fountain. To Fin’s shock, it was empty now, save for a staircase leading into its depths.
“This way,” the thorny Meressian commanded, ushering Fig and Marrill downward. “There’s a secret exit at the far end of the spiral galleries. If we’re lucky, we’ll make it.”
Fin glanced back through the wall of ice. Vell sneered at him, shaking his head in disgust. Then his lips curled into a cruel smile, and he crooked an eyebrow as if in a challenge. Fin’s pulse skittered. He knew what that look meant, and it wasn’t good.
“We should hurry,” he urged the others. But he kept his eyes on Vell. Looking through the ice was like staring into a twisted mirror, seeing himself in another life. The other him dropped his hand sharply, and the Rise holding the statue of the Salt Sand King let it fall, heavily, to the ground.
The second the iron touched the floor, Fin understood why the Rise carried it themselves. A dull darkness spread out from its base. The darkness crept outward, across the floor, up the ice, through it. Petrifying it.
The Iron Tide. Other than the Rise themselves, everything it touched became metal, and everything that turned to metal became a part of the Tide. The Salt Sand King, living fire or not, seemed to be no exception.
He couldn’t hear Vell’s voice through the ice. But the words his lips made were clear: “Surrender, before the Tide takes us both.”
Fin sighed. This day hadn’t started well, and if he was being honest, it wasn’t getting much better. “Bad news,” he called to the others as he raced after them down the spiral staircase. “Iron Tide is coming.”
