by C. M. Hayden
“I’ll be in the wagon,” Aris said.
The hand-carved clock on the wall said it was just past midnight.
“Do you have to go?” Enam said, latching onto Taro’s leg.
Taro patted his brother’s messy hair. “For a while.”
“But you’ve been gone for so long already.”
“And look how well you and Decker have been doing. The house is clean. Mom and Dad are getting their medicine. I’m impressed.”
“That old guy in the suit comes, once a week, and cleans,” Decker said.
“Old guy?” Taro muttered. “Mort?”
Decker nodded. “He brings medicine and food, too. Never asks for money.”
At least Mathan had kept his word on that point.
Taro went into his parent’s bedroom and when he shut the door, his father sat up on the bed. His frail arms grasped a metal cup, and he sipped at it to clear his throat.
He looked over Taro for a good minute before he spoke. “What’s that you’re wearin’?”
“A Magisterium uniform.”
“You’re a soldier now?”
“An artificer. Yes,” Taro said.
“I see. Doin’ honest work then?”
Taro let out an exasperated laugh. “For once, I don’t have to lie. I’m doing honest work.”
“You’d have saved yourself a lot of hardship, if you did that from the start.”
“You’ll be happy to know, it’s all caught up with me. I might not be coming back.”
“You think I’m happy when seeing you suffer?”
“Yes,” Taro said, stone-faced.
“You got it backwards. I worry about you more than I worry about anyone else.”
“So that’s why you trashed me every day?”
“I was hard on you, but—”
“Every morning, every night, beating me down. Just once, I wanted you say you were proud of me; just once, I wanted you say ‘good job.’”
His father raised his voice. “A good job doing what? Stealing? Lying? You want me to pat you on the back for that?”
Taro’s eyes darkened. “Being honest doesn’t put food on the table.”
“There are honest jobs out there.”
“Sweeping floors for two pence a night? Washing dishes? How was that supposed to pay for a family of six?”
His father was silent.
“That’s what I thought,” Taro continued. “If my choices are between watching my brothers starve or taking the purse off some rich bastard, I’m going to do just that.”
“And how has that view worked out for your sister?”
The comment cut into Taro much deeper than he’d expected. He left and slammed the door behind him without another word.
With his back to the door, he heard his mother’s faint voice speaking to his father.
“You’re too hard on him,” she said.
“He needs a steady hand.”
“What he needs is a father.”
Upon hearing his mother’s voice, Taro wanted nothing more than to go in and speak with her, but he couldn’t bear to be in the same room as his father. He hugged his brothers one last time and left.
The Eventide was in a woodland clearing, outside Ashwick. It hovered several feet from the ground, kicking up leaves and rustling the grass like a hurricane. The artificers were loading up the final supply crates when Taro and Aris boarded.
_____
The Eventide ran remarkably well, considering it was held together with sloppy spot-welds, rusted deck plates, and the prayers of first-year artificers.
Even at a languid pace for an airship of its caliber, the Eventide could make the three-hundred-mile trip to Endra Edûn in under five hours. It felt like weeks.
Taro and Suri changed into less conspicuous clothes and waited with Ven and Aris below deck. Aris tucked himself away in a corner and was poking at the insides of a smooth metal device with a groove on the side. Taro recognized it was one of Magister Ross’ gravity reducers.
“What are you doing?” Taro asked, not bothering with exactly how Aris managed to acquire it.
“These are only meant for single use,” Aris said, his eyes focused on the insides. “The runes are spent. I’m trying to get one more use of it.”
“We’re going to jump?” Suri asked.
“From much higher than these devices were designed to work. If we get too close, we’ll be shot out of the sky.”
“Couldn’t they shoot us as we fell?” Taro asked.
“We’ll be much smaller targets. And if they did, it would only kill you two. I’d still have a chance.”
“Comforting,” Taro said.
“Don’t sweat it, getting shot out of the sky is the thing least likely to kill you today.” He stopped working for a moment and counted on his fingers as he spoke. “The jump, the landing, Vexis’ followers, void apparitions, a wrathful Old God, not to mention Vexis has a templar that could break you like a soggy toothpick.”
Aris shut the latch on the gravity reducer and handed it to Suri.
“Where’s mine?” Taro asked.
“You’re going to have to share.”
“That didn’t work so well last time,” Ven said.
“You survived, didn’t you?” Aris said. “The reducer should be able to hold the weight of two.”
“What about you?” Suri asked.
“Regrettably, I’m going to be cold-jumping.”
“As in...” Taro rolled his hand.
Aris clapped his hands together. “Splat.”
Cool air rushed past them as Taro, Suri, and Aris climbed above deck. The snowy landscape stretched on like a vast white cloud, and in the far distance Endra Edûn sat, waiting. Kyra was above deck, but her eyes glossed over Taro and went straight to Aris.
“We won’t be able to pull you out,” she said.
“It won’t be necessary,” Aris said. “Head straight for Tyrithia. If we succeed, bring back as large a force as you can muster.”
“How will we know if you succeed?” Kyra said.
“If Vexis brings an Old God through the reach, you will know it,” Aris said. His eyes darted from the city back to Kyra. “We need more altitude.”
The order was given and the ship rose high above the clouds, so high the air was thin. The Eventide sputtered as if it was going to stall, but finally it leveled out. Taro, Suri, and Aris climbed onto the edge of the deck.
“Jump when I give the word,” Aris said. “If you hesitate, you’ll miss it.”
Suri grabbed Taro’s hand. “Are you ready?”
Taro peeked over the side and a shiver shook through him. “As I’ll ever be.”
“On three,” Aris said. “One...two...three!”
Taro held onto Suri’s outstretched hand so hard, he felt like he was going to break it. They fell like a stone, hurling toward the sprawling cityscape below. Ice crystals prickled Taro’s skin and stung his eyes, as he watched the ground rush toward him.
“Now?” Taro shouted.
“We’re not close enough.”
The wind whipped them around and threatened to tear them apart. In all the thrashing, Taro lost sight of Aris. Moments before they struck the ground, Suri clicked the gravity reducer. To Taro’s utter relief, it worked immediately. Having experienced the fall before, he braced himself for the rough landing. There was one significant difference this time—instead of landing on snow, they landed on hard stone.
Taro tumbled like a ragdoll against the icy road, scraping his elbows and cheeks, smashing his mouth against the pavement. Somewhere in his long roll, he lost a tooth.
“Are you okay?” Taro asked. Suri had been less prepared and had taken the brunt of the fall. He turned her over. “Did you break anything?”
Suri groaned. “Everything.” She tried to stand but stumbled dizzily. “Where’s Aris?”
Taro glanced around. “I didn’t see him land.”
“He must’ve seen us, though. Should we wait for him?”
> “If he saw us, someone else will have, too. We need to move.”
Suri steadied herself and they moved a safe distance from their landing site. Fortunately, it was just after four o’clock in the morning, and they didn’t have to work too hard to avoid the one or two warders.
Taro went as far as the east entrance to the lower city.
“I can find my father alone,” Suri said.
“Are you sure?”
“I’ll be fine. You’ve got more important things to worry about.”
Taro didn’t argue. Everything in the shadow of the Magisterium was a death zone, and every second brought them one step closer to oblivion.
Taro didn’t bother searching for Aris. In a city that stretched on for miles, he could be anywhere. Instead, he went straight for the Magisterium, as it was the place they were most likely to meet up.
Endra Edûn was quiet and as still as a graveyard. At first, Taro thought this was due to the hour of the day; but even so, it was unusually still. As Taro neared the Magisterium, the true reason became apparent. Uncertainty bred fear. Vexis had many followers, no doubt, but not a majority. Nevertheless, it was unreasonable to expect civilians to fight back against the ruling power. And perhaps some hoped she could do what she’d promised and repair the Arclight. So they locked themselves away in their homes and prayed.
However, this only explained one part of the emptiness. The other part became clear, as Taro neared the Magisterium. Huddled around the Midway were thousands and thousands of people. Men, women, and children crowded around fire bins, and tents had apparently been there for some time.
Despite the razor-sharp wind and freezing cold, there were nothing but bright eyes and smiles. They were the blissful faces of sheep, eagerly waiting to die.
Chapter Forty-two
Friends and Enemies
The crowd was as thick as oil and twice as hard to push through. There were people from all walks of life, but the majority were residents of the lower city. The Midway was the only thing stopping them from pressing against the tower itself.
With the thousands of bodies and hundreds of small fires, it was actually quite warm. Taro stepped over sleeping children and shimmied past chattering old-timers.
“Do yeh reckon it’ll be soon?” an old Helian man said to another.
“Suppose so. Dawn’s not far off,” the man responded.
Near the Midway was a sight that chilled Taro’s blood. Magister Ross sat with her hands utterly destroyed, and her feet shackled to a heavy iron block.
Nearby were Veldheim and Sullen, each chained up but mostly unharmed. Sullen had his mechanical arm removed and a group of children were playing with it, poking at the Midway and sending ripples in the energy field. Each of the magisters had cuffs on their wrists identical to those that Vexis had in her cell.
Ross’ clothes were shredded, her skin was bruised and bloody, and the glass of her spectacles was lodged in the skin around her eye. Bloody rocks lay around her and, once in a while, an onlooker would lob another in her direction.
It wasn’t exactly the horror of what had happened to her that struck Taro so hard, but rather the elation on the faces of the people involved. He wondered why they didn’t just kill her and be done with it; but as Ross was positioned to face the tower, Taro suspected that Vexis wanted her to see the Arclight when it activated.
Ross was alive, but seemed to have grown numb to the pain and didn’t even twitch when a stone struck her back. As Taro neared, he circled around and their eyes met. Cut into the flesh of her forehead was the word IMPERATOR. He wasn’t sure if she couldn’t see him through her bloody eyes, or if she chose not to acknowledge him. She didn’t say a word. In either case, freeing her and the other magisters was impossible.
A crackle rumbled through the air, like a bolt of lightning. At first, Taro thought it was something striking the Midway, but people began pointing toward the top of the Magisterium. The ice on the tip cracked and slid down the sides. The entire tower seemed to tremble and the triangular crystal plates at the top glowed from the inside.
Yellow fire erupted from the Arclight. The force was so great it shook the buildings beneath and forced Taro onto his back.
The Arclight shined with the white-hot brilliance of the sun. It felt different than ordinary light; there was a static charge to it that permeated deep into his skin.
Many years ago, Taro had grown accustomed to the discomfort caused by his prosthetic. When the light touched him, the pain dissolved, like water washing away sand.
After getting over the initial shell shock, the crowd burst into cheers and applause. Taro glanced at Ross, whose bruises and cuts disappeared in seconds.
The Arclight’s fire receded and the city was dark once again. Perhaps it was just a test?
Taro’s aurom warmed against his chest as he passed through the Midway.
Other than the warders at the main gate, the courtyard seemed empty. Any confrontation would alert Vexis to his presence, so he kept his head low and snuck past the fountains and frozen garden arches toward the side of the tower.
“I should be surprised to see you alive,” a voice called to Taro. He froze like a statue and tilted his eyes toward an icy park bench. On it sat Mr. Mathan. He looked different. His clothes were ruffled and his cheeks were slick, but what stood out more than anything else was the absence of a cigar.
Mathan didn’t make any provocative actions. Actually, he seemed positively indifferent. He was clenching something small between his fingers. It was a picture of someone, but his finger covered most of the image.
“It was foolish for you to come here,” Mathan said. “But I understand why you would.”
“You’re not...?”
“Going to stop you?” Mathan grinned slightly and shook his head. “No.”
Once again, the Arclight exploded overhead, for a brief moment, before flickering out like a snuffed candle.
“It won’t be long now.” Mathan glanced sideways at the crowds outside the Midway. “Poor devils. They have no idea what’s coming.”
“So we were right, then? She’s going to use the Arclight to kill them?” Taro said.
Mathan seemed surprised by this. “You’re more observant than Dennith and I.” He chuckled to himself. “Can you believe I actually believed her? There was a time when nothing got past me. When it’s ready, everything outside will be struck down.”
“Then why are you out here?”
Mathan briefly glanced at the photo in his hands. It was of a boy. “The only person that matters is safe.”
“My sister isn’t,” Taro countered.
“On the contrary, she’s safe and sound inside the tower.”
“Why didn’t you send her back to Ashwick like we agreed?”
“Halric wanted her. He said it was for insurance, but he didn’t care to elaborate. I truly apologize for my hand in all this.” He looked up at the sky. “I hope my imminent death can be a pittance for it.”
“I have a better pittance; help me get inside.”
Mathan searched his pocket and pulled out a cigar box. It was empty. “Damn. The last pitiful hour of my life and I can’t even get a decent smoke.”
“I need your help,” Taro said, growing annoyed by his obtuseness.
“You don’t really expect to be able to stop her, do you?”
“I sure as hell am gonna try. Will you help me?” He stared into Mathan’s eyes. “Do you want a million deaths on your conscience?”
Mathan stood, with some difficulty, and brushed the snow off his pants leg. He tucked the photo into his vest pocket. “I’ll help you get inside and point you to the right direction. What you do after that is your business.”
Mathan ushered him to follow, and they made their way to the main gate. The warders nodded to Mathan and opened the doors.
“I’m afraid I’m not familiar with the inner layout of the tower,” Mathan said. “Vexis mentioned that the entrance to the Arclight chamber was in the Conserv
atorium. Does that make any sense to you?”
“I’ve been to the Cons a hundred times, and I’ve never seen any door.”
“It’s obscured by magic.” Mathan checked his pocket watch. “The Arclight will be repaired by sunrise. That leaves you a little less than two hours.”
They passed a few sets of warders, none of which attempted to stop them.
“How many warders are working for her?” Taro whispered.
“A hundred or so; most were killed, early on. Their loyalty to her is tenuous, at best, but it would be wise to stay clear of them.”
When they were past the next set of warders, and in the curved hallway behind the Curia, Taro pointed to a grate on the wall. Ven had shown it to him many months earlier. “There’s a maintenance shaft in there that will get us to the Cons quicker.”
“There’s no us,” Mathan said.
“I can’t do this alone,” Taro pleaded.
For the first time since Taro could remember, Mathan didn’t look intimidating. He didn’t look imposing. He looked old. “I can’t go crawling around through air ducts. I’ve got no magic. All I’ve got is money, and I don’t think Vexis will take a bribe. I’ll do my best to divert the guards for you, at least.”
Taro sighed, yanked the grate off the wall, and climbed inside. The narrow crawlspace led over a pack of sputtering wheel-cranks and to a ladder that seemed to go up forever. It would be forty floors of climbing, and that was assuming it was a straight shot and that none of the pathways decided to change along the way.
When he placed one foot against the first rung of the ladder, he heard a clank against the wall. It was the grate being reattached. At first, Taro didn’t pay it any mind; but soon after, he heard talking.
Sikes’ voice was slow and deliberate. “All alone? That’s very unfortunate for you.”
“Mr. Sikes. I was wondering when Vexis would let you out of your cage,” Mathan said. Taro’s first instinct was to intervene, but Mathan tapped on the grate with his fingers. “Go on.”
Sikes thought Mathan was talking to him. “I’m not going anywhere,” he answered.
Mathan scoffed. “What do you want me to do? Apologize?”
“You used me,” Sikes said, practically snarling.
