Heartless Heirs

by MarcyKate Connolly

  CHAPTER 5

  WE SPEND SEVERAL DAYS WINDING through the far reaches of the continent as we follow the map. We knew the country was vast, but none of us has ever explored it before. It’s sparsely populated. That shouldn’t surprise me, considering the Technocrats wiped out half the population who lived here one hundred years ago. Still, I expected more people. Instead we find the crumbled remnants of several bombed villages, with only a few stone walls standing, now overgrown with vines and young trees. Twice, we’ve come upon a village or outpost where Technocrats live a simpler life than those in the capital city.

  But they’re still Technocrats, and we’re careful to give them and their villages a wide berth.

  The map led us over mountains and through a region of deep forest. Then yesterday we entered a huge swath of swamp and marshland. We had no choice but to trudge through it as carefully as possible. According to the map, our destination lies on the other side.

  We walked all day, then when night fell, we slept in shifts on a crop of massive driftwood trees. There are dangerous animals out here, alligators and birds of prey with wingspans as large as my own arms spread wide. And those are just the ones we’ve seen and warded off.

  But the swamp isn’t a comfortable place to sleep, and I wake up strangely sore and grumpy.

  When we finally break free of the swamp in the late morning, a new, startling sight greets us in fits and starts through the thick fog. The terrain ahead is hilly but desolate. Skeletal petrified trees, no doubt the result of Technocrat bombs, still stand like a silent army. Few people live in the western regions of the country anymore, and the Technos haven’t bothered to populate it with their fake metal trees. Nothing grows in the soil but the hardiest weeds, ferns, and moss. The hills are covered with them, at least what we can see through gaps in the fog as it rolls by.

  Zandria frowns. “Are you sure this is where we’re supposed to go? I don’t see anything that could be a library around here.”

  I check the map again. Our path is true. “Definitely. Even the hills are noted here.”

  Remy sighs, then weaves a spell to dry our wet feet and trousers after the journey through the swamp. “Then let’s see what we can find. I doubt it will be much.”

  Remy’s attitude has become fatalistic since we left the Chambers. The initial shock has faded, leaving behind only bitterness and grief. It weighs on all of us, an invisible hand constricting around our chests.

  But unlike Remy, I can’t afford to assume defeat. I still have too much to lose.

  I miss Aro like I’d miss one of my limbs. I never expected to feel like this once I performed the Binding rite, but there’s a constant ache, a need to be near him, in every breath I take. He grew on me so slowly, so stealthily. I didn’t fully realize he had my heart until it was far too late. I miss working with him, oddly enough, even though what I was doing was supposed to be in service to the Technocrats. But his relentless determination to help other Heartless who weren’t fortunate enough to be royalty was infectious. He helped them for the same reason he helped us escape.

  Because it was the right thing to do.

  Aro’s moral compass is more finely tuned than that of some Magi. He opened my eyes in so many ways, and it’s impossible to close them again. No matter how safe he believes himself to be in Palinor, I know he’s at risk. And that terrifies me. Remy and Zandria may feel like they’ve lost everything and that the only way to ease the pain is to throw themselves deeper into darkness and revenge. But I still have light worth fighting for. I won’t give up on it easily.

  We begin to hear a strange noise. A mournful keening that echoes through the air. At first, it’s disconcerting, but then I realize what it is: the wind howling through the leafless, petrified forest. I shudder and reach for Zandria’s hand, but it isn’t there. Her arms are folded over her chest and she stares straight ahead.

  She hasn’t forgiven me yet.

  But she will. Eventually. I hope.

  “It’s just the wind,” Remy says. Zandria shrugs and we continue into the hills. The pits and valleys between them are sharper than I expected. Almost like giant ants built these mounds dotting the landscape, ranging in size from small to enormous. The largest rises above the fog in the center of the hills. There’s a solemnity about it that makes me shiver.

  I look to the map, then point to that hill. “There. The tallest one is marked for some reason. If we head that way, it should give us a better idea of why we were led here.”

  “Or maybe there’s nothing left of what was once here,” Zandria says sourly. “This place is just a strange, hilly wasteland with bad weather.” She may have originally sided with my plan to go after the lost library, but in the days since she’s become more and more disillusioned with the idea. Remy’s influence isn’t helping. I miss the lighthearted Zandria who used to go tunnel diving with me every night. Who enjoyed an adventure for the sake of the journey.

  Remy shrugs. “Why not? I have no better ideas.”

  We make our way cautiously through the fog, ever conscious of the fact we can’t see everything that may be out here with us.

  In spite of the fog, I feel exposed. I don’t like that one bit. Even our shield spell is little help—if we used it, a large blank spot moving through the fog would be all too noticeable. If we manipulate the fog with our magic, we’ll immediately give away our position to anyone or anything out here. No, the best course is to let the fog wrap around us and walk maddeningly slow and steady.

  We pick our way through the mist as it clings to our cloaks and curls around our legs like a welcoming pet, heading for the largest hill in the center. Every now and then I glance behind, but all I can see is the fog and the grasping tree skeletons. Sometimes I swear I hear the sound of metal skittering, but neither Zandria nor Remy notices it. The keening of the wind is all that reaches their ears. If I wasn’t casting the silencing spell, I’d cast the one that amplifies sounds for the caster instead just to be sure. But I don’t dare drop one of the few things preventing us from being completely exposed.

  Those same noises have haunted my nightmares all week. I’m probably imagining them.

  It takes us about an hour to reach the central hill. Zandria puts her hands on her hips and stares up at the giant mound before us. “What does the map say we’re supposed to do now?”

  I turn it over in my hands, trying to make sense of it. “It doesn’t specify. It just leads here.”

  “That’s not helpful,” Remy says.

  “Maybe we won’t know until we get to the top?” I say. “Maybe there’s something we can only see from that vantage point.”

  “Worth a try,” Zandria says and starts her ascent without waiting for us. That part of Zandria appears to be making a return—the constant desire to run ahead.

  Remy and I hike up the hill after her. When we reach the summit, I recognize the sensation tingling in my toes—magic. Something the Magi created is waiting for us to find it.

  We survey the foggy hills on all sides with matching scowls. The landscape is strange in a way that I can’t quite put my finger on . . .

  It’s symmetrical. Too symmetrical.

  The realization jolts through me, but I don’t say anything to my companions yet. I examine the softly rolling hills, whose tips peek through the fog.

  They’re laid out in concentric circles, spreading out from this center peak like a drop of water rippling outward in a lake.

  This is not a natural formation. The ancient Magi must’ve designed this, crafted the landscape in this whole area. Our legends make it clear this isn’t unusual, but it’s the first time I’ve seen something the Magi built in its entirety that wasn’t the Chambers. While I have no doubt the Magi made this place, I can’t help wondering why. What did they use these strange hills for? They’re aesthetically pleasing, certainly, but their purpose is a mystery. Just like so much of the Magi’s true history.

  “It’s beautiful,” I whisper, a sudden emotion filling me up until I
can’t breathe. Awe? Joy? Anguish? I hardly know what to call it.

  “It is,” Zandria agrees.

  Remy is silent. I’d bet anything he’s thinking of his father and the Chambers again. We’ve lost so much. But at least we found this.

  “Nothing’s here,” Zandria says, clearly frustrated. The cold and damp from the fog seeps into our hair and skin; we’re all feeling more irritable than usual.

  “That can’t be right,” I say, consulting the parchment map yet again. “This hill is marked on the map. It has to be the right place.”

  “Maybe whatever was here was blown to smithereens. Destroyed like the trees,” Remy suggests. I stare daggers at him.

  “We’re not giving up yet.” I close my eyes, letting my magic explore. Something tugs back.

  There’s powerful magic here, somewhere very close.

  Sending a spell beneath my feet, I test the soil to determine where the magic is coming from. To my surprise, it seems to be directly below us.

  I quickly cast a digging spell, sending dirt flying in all directions.

  “What are you doing, Aissa?” Remy frowns, but I wave him off.

  “Give me a minute,” I say. Zandria appears at my elbow. Her curiosity always does have a way of winning out.

  A couple feet down, something glints under the soil. My heart races. It can’t be . . .

  Zandria gasps. “Is that . . . is that the same black stone as the door we found under Palinor?”

  I suck my breath in sharply. “Yes. Can’t you feel it?”

  She kneels down, holding her hand over the exposed stone. It shines even through the dirt. “I’d recognize that sensation anywhere.”

  A heady feeling sweeps over me. “This can’t be solid stone. There must be a door into the hill somewhere. That must be what the map was trying to tell us.”

  We keep digging, this time with our hands so we can keep our protective spells in place. Now that we’re above the fog, Remy casts the shield spell while we work, and Zandria takes on the silencing one. We reveal a few runes carved into the stone, but nothing that clearly indicates what the material is doing here. Only that it was made by Magi hands and isn’t just another vein of rock.

  I stand up straighter, wiping dirt from my face. This is even more difficult to open than that door in the Palinor tunnels. We don’t have the luxury of time like we did then either, or a key, which makes this all the more frustrating.

  I sigh and stretch, taking in the view again. It’s strangely lovely. The fog swirls through the hills like a river. I wonder if the sun ever shines here. Looking down, this whole expanse seems like an elaborate labyrinth.

  I look back the way we came—and my breath strangles in my throat.

  Something just glinted through the fog. Only for a moment, but unmistakably metallic.

  My blood pounds in my ears, and I yank Zandria and Remy down into a crouch. We’re above the fog, and I’m not taking any chances right now, even with a shield spell in place.

  “What is it?” Zandria whispers.

  “Something followed us.” I can barely choke the words out. We’ve been careful the whole way here. How did this thing find us?

  Just when I’m beginning to think I imagined it, a long metal leg reaches through the fog. Then another, and another as the mech climbs up one of the shorter hills. My breath stutters in my chest.

  It’s a seeker.

  “I hate seekers,” Zandria mutters.

  This is one of the larger ones—smaller than a wolf but bigger than a rabbit, with all the speed and nimbleness of a spider. Technos use them for reconnaissance over distances or to trap larger prey. Or, as in this case, both. It’s the same kind that caught Zandria when we were searching Palinor’s underground tunnels. I squeeze her hand tightly. It’s cold and clammy, and I can feel her pulse racing through her palms. Our connection only lasts for a moment before she shrugs me off, frowning.

  “It’s probably just a scout,” Remy says. “Looking for any stragglers that fled the massacre at the ravine.”

  My breathing only calms slightly. They may not be after us specifically. But they’d be happy to catch us just the same.

  “Let’s make sure it’s alone,” Zandria says. We wait, crouched on top of the hill, for another ten minutes while the spiderlike machine skitters over the mounds below, occasionally dipping back under the fog. Every step that brings it closer makes my fury grow. This thing would kill us, hunt down every last survivor, and wipe us out. Magic pools in my hands, stinging my fingertips and begging to be released.

  I’m not just ready for a fight; I want one.

  “I’ve seen enough. We can’t let it report back on anything it sees here.” I get to my feet. My entire body hums to the tune of pent-up revenge.

  I begin a spell, halting the spider’s progress as it reaches the base of the central hill. I send my magic deep into the metal beast. Prying and ripping. Shattering the mirrors and crushing the recorder buried inside it. Yanking each of its spindly legs off one by one and tossing them aside.

  Then one final word of the spell—explosi—and the whole thing bursts apart, pieces of shimmering metal raining down through the fog.

  Remy gapes at me and Zandria wraps her arms around her middle.

  “We need to find a way in before more of those seekers arrive to investigate why one went dark,” I say, urgency filling my limbs.

  Zandria dusts the dirt off her trousers. “I’m done with digging.” She lifts up her arms, working the motions of a handspell. At my sister’s command, the soil rises from the top of the hill, revealing the black stone hiding beneath. Then she tosses the rocks and dirt down the slope.

  Left exposed is a wide slab of black, shimmering rock embedded with runes and two circular hollows in the center. We kneel down, trying to decipher the runes. A few are familiar, but others are more difficult to understand, part of an ancient dialect our people lost in the wars, along with so much more.

  Remy frowns at a rune just above one of the depressions. “I think . . . I think this one means life. Or the living, maybe?”

  It does resemble the more modern runes we know for life. “Maybe we need to put something living in the depression to unlock the entrance?” I suggest.

  “Good idea,” Remy says. He plucks a small patch of moss and places it in the indented space. Something inside the hill rumbles.

  We exchange an excited glance. “Sounds like we’re onto something,” I say. “But what about this one?” I point to the other indentation. I’m not sure I’ve seen that rune before, or anything like it.

  “Death,” Zandria says immediately, and both Remy and I look at her, surprised.

  “What makes you say that?” I ask.

  “They’re opposites. They balance each other out, but both are necessary.”

  “How are we supposed to put a piece of death in this?” I say.

  “Maybe this?” Remy rummages through his pack, then holds up a piece of jerky. “It’s technically a dead animal.” He places it in the depression, and we hold our breaths expectantly.

  Nothing happens.

  I frown. “Maybe it didn’t die recently enough?”

  We catch a beetle crawling in the dirt we disturbed and crush it quickly. Still nothing, other than a small twinge of guilt.

  Suddenly Zandria’s eyes widen. “This is the Alchemist Alliance we’re talking about. Death could just mean not living.”

  “Machines,” we say at the same time.

  Zandria calls a piece of torn metal over to us and rests it in the chamber. More gears rumble beneath our feet, making the entire hill tremble. The two hollows begin to spin around each other, and a circle connecting them sinks into the hilltop, then slides to the right, revealing a ladder leading down into the darkness.

  CHAPTER 6

  MY BREATH QUICKENS AND SO DOES Zandria’s. Remy holds up his hands. “Now that I’ve seen what you two can do to machines, I’m going to let you go first this time.”

  I laugh in spi
te of Zandria’s grave demeanor. If we’d discovered this a couple of months ago, Zandria would already be down there exploring without a backward glance.

  But I suppose we’ve all learned our lessons well.

  “I’ll go first.” I start down the ladder into the black. Strangely, it isn’t as cold as I expected. It’s almost warm, in fact. Perhaps the Alchemist Alliance had some geothermal venting set up here long ago, or a warming spell that was strong enough to continue for a hundred years or more.

  Either way, it’s almost unsettling, but also oddly welcoming. Like this place was waiting for us.

  When my feet hit the floor, lights blaze on, and I put my hand up to shield my eyes.

  “What was that?” Zandria calls down from the top of the ladder.

  “Lights,” I say. “The torches on the walls must be spelled.” I examine one more closely and realize I’ve seen this design before—it’s similar to the torches in the secret passage Darian used to get in and out of the city. Perhaps they’re not magic after all but contain a mechanism that ignites when weight is put on the floor.

  Zandria joins me, with Remy close behind. “Interesting,” she says, examining the torches. She grabs one from the wall, just as the circular slab we unlocked slides back into place over our heads.

  Remy clears his throat. “I hope there’s another way out.”

  “I’m sure the Alliance has a back door. Or a means to reopen that panel,” Zandria says, though she doesn’t look as sure as she sounds.

  We get our bearings. We’re in a long corridor made from the black marble that stretches out before us; the wall with the ladder attached to it is at our backs. Forward is the only way to go.

  We move cautiously, Remy casting the silencing spell and me the cloaking spell. Zandria leads the way with the mechanical torch. No noises greet us, not even the skittering of small animals one might expect to infest a long-abandoned place like this. Just silence and the black walls emanating magic. And us.

  My blood sings in my veins. I’m convinced that this, at last, is indeed the location of our lost library. This is what we’ve been searching for. This is what we were meant to find.