by Liz Delton
All whispers had ceased, and she lowered her voice, aware of her audience’s rapt attention. “We can’t let them touch Meadowcity. It’s the last clean place we have.”
Even Gero was speechless.
Lark though, cleared his throat, and glanced politely at the Riftcity woman, who sat, indicating she was done. Lark remained seated, but his deep voice echoed throughout the office without hesitation.
“Meadowcity is my home,” he began, for the benefit of anyone who didn’t know. “The weapons Greyling has created—man, beast, explosive—cannot be allowed back inside, I completely agree.”
“I’ve seen what’s left of a man who crosses the path of a wolf out in the wilds; I’ve lost many fellow Riders to those beasts, and those were the wild ones.”
“Yes, death is a part of life, but I’m sure not every Scout deserves it. We cannot know all of the ways Greyling has coerced his army, and we cannot judge an entire group of people based on the actions of a few. We cannot kill without knowing the cost.”
“If we take the right precautions—”
And on and on the argument went. The more Atlan listened, the tighter the knot twisted inside his stomach.
He surveyed the room again. Wood. Everything was made of wood in Meadowcity, with the exception of this one building made of stone.
It would all burn.
He swallowed. If Greyling was coming here as a last ditch effort before attempting to invade Seascape, he didn’t need these people, as he had in the past. He would spare no one.
Atlan couldn’t see how their defenses—patrols, archers, traps, and barricades—would stop the oncoming army. Valiant though their efforts at defense might be, he didn’t have the heart to offer his true opinion. But they had to do something to protect Sylvia’s home.
Even with the hydrojet, they wouldn’t be able to provide much help. The jet had no weapons that they knew of. It was the reason Seascape even had the jets in the first place—all of the fighting jets had been taken and used during the last of the world wars.
He found himself reaching for Sylvia, and his hand on her thigh made her snap out of her stupor and look at him with deep concern. What’s wrong? she linked to him.
He shook his head in answer.
She reached out then, and took his hand in hers. He smiled, swallowing past the knot in his stomach.
Thirty-Eight
The sky had grown dark early, and heavy grey clouds rolled thickly in from the south. The wind smelled of wild abandon, of metal, of electricity. It smelled of that intangible scent of an oncoming storm.
Ember tightened her grip on the knife in her left hand and darted toward Ven, trying to get through a hole in his defense.
The opening she had spotted was closed so quickly she realized too late it was a trap, and she whirled to face him.
After sending off Luna to warn Meadowcity with a hastily written note, complete with as many wishes for their safety as they could cram onto the paper, Ember and Ven had begun to spar to pass the time until dark.
Apex and Flint were doing a final safety check on the equipment, but Ember thought it was more out of nerves than anything. They had checked it five times already since lunch.
Sparring with Ven had done wonders to take her mind off things, but it did little to dispel the energy coursing through her veins, somehow fueled by the hint of electricity in the air.
“I hope this doesn’t amount to anything,” Ember wished aloud, indicating the roiling clouds with the tip of her knife.
Ven grunted. “I think it’s going to be hard whether its storming or not.”
She chuckled nervously.
They only had a few hours left until they would leave camp, and enter Riftcity.
She wondered what it was like inside the city now, with most of the Scouts gone. From what they had witnessed in the past, it would be much the same as before. The citizens were too scared to do anything for fear of retaliation. But they could change that.
Everything was in place, the supplies gathered, weapons sharpened. What tools they couldn’t steal from Riftcity, they had already gotten from Meadowcity weeks ago.
The hair was standing at the back of her neck, and she awkwardly tugged on a light coat she had tossed aside earlier. Her hand was mostly healed, but she had kept the tight bandage on for Rekha’s benefit, who kept fretting over her.
Though they were on the mountainside away from the rift, they heard an eerie howl tear through it, courtesy of the wind.
“Maybe the storm’ll be good cover,” she suggested, more to herself than to Ven.
He grunted again.
Her nerves at the oncoming mission, and the electricity of the storm in the air made her jump up a few times, bouncing on the balls of her feet. She hefted her knife at Ven in challenge.
“Ready?”
He stood, blade raised. “Ready.”
Thirty-Nine
That night, Atlan and Sylvia went to the hydrojet. He got a good look at the two places in the treewall where those explosive orbs had been used when Greyling had been here before, and it did nothing to loosen the knot in his stomach.
The sky had grown dark early, making the wilds even more eerie. He put a hand on the sword Sylvia had helped him acquire.
He felt useless in his efforts to help. He and the others from Seascape had given advice at the war council on some defense tactics they thought might work, but none of them wanted to publicly disagree with Sylvia and the Governor. And it wasn’t as if they could get any help from Seascape.
Emrick and Alice were up at the bridge when they went inside the jet. Alice was learning how to pilot the hydrojet, since she said she had no desire to remain on the ground and fight, if it came to it. Atlan couldn’t blame her, the slight girl was hardly built to carry a bag of groceries, let alone help assemble barricades, and at worst—fighting.
But none of them wanted to leave. Atlan had sought out each of them privately since landing with Sylvia, and they had all said they were going to stay and help, to see this through to the end. Even Lena, who had scoffed, acting offended that Atlan doubted her. Their support seemed to have inspired many of the citizens, and rallied even more volunteers to help set up the defenses. At least their presence had done that.
Yet for some reason, memories of the vids Atlan had seen of Lightcity’s destruction kept popping into his brain.
He and Sylvia found a cabin with a large looking-glass they could use to watch her drone vids on. For over an hour, they sat on the couch in the small cabin, watching the live feed.
They both saw it at the same time, and straightened up out of their comfortable slouches on the couch. Sylvia brought the drone in closer.
“They went to Riftcity,” she murmured. “To get more Scouts. That’s why I couldn’t find them.”
“And the rest of the explosives?” Atlan asked.
“That’s probably what they’re carrying in those packs,” she said, getting to her feet. “I’ve got to go talk to Gero. There’s no way we can defend—I’ve got an idea—I just hope we can do it in time!”
Without explaining any further, she dashed from the cabin.
What could they do for all these people? he wondered. They couldn’t evacuate with the hydrojet; they could only fit about twenty people in it at a time. He didn’t even know where they would go.
He pushed himself off the couch and headed for the bridge to tell the others about the army.
Later that night he found out what Sylvia had run off to talk to Gero about. As he sat talking with the others in the hydrojet, she sent him a link, asking him to come to the Citizen’s Hall.
She met him in the foyer and led him through a series of hallways and clearly unused spaces until they squeezed down a narrow stairway. A second stairway led from the room at the bottom, and she explained her idea.
“He could be here as early as tomorrow, or the next day,” Sylvia concluded.
It was the best they had.
Without any help fr
om Seascape, there was nothing else they could do against Greyling’s forces, besides evacuate. People had already started gathering in the Citizen’s Hall as word spread. Her father was gathering a small group of Riders to help lead the refugees out into the wilds.
Lady Naomi’s offer of help at the Trials had been a joke. A single drone for Sylvia, so they could sit and watch the oncoming doom. He was ashamed to be her son.
He tried to think of what Seascape would do in this situation, but the island already had more defenses in place than they even needed—things that would drop an assailant before they got within sighting distance of the island.
Dinner with the Thornes was deadly quiet. Even Sylvia’s little sister had lost her spark, and sat toying with her food.
Tomorrow. If they came tomorrow, would it be enough time?
Forty
I can hate myself for it later, Atlan told himself.
Night had settled over Meadowcity, and he walked straight past the villa he was lodging in and made for the path by the treewall. It was then that it began to rain.
He had already walked around the entire city once, the ancient trees of the wall a steady presence at his side. But not steady enough.
He would hate himself. For a very, very long time.
Tiny droplets still fell from the sky, already having soaked through his clothes an hour ago. Finally, he stopped walking, and crouched to sit at the edge of the wooden walkway, somewhere in the farming quarter. A breeze blew through the plantings, making them rustle like a hundred people whispering in the dark.
Already connected to his earlink, he reached out a thought to that hated individual, that woman who might actually be able to help. His mother.
He shuddered at the thought, and suddenly she was inside his head.
My dear son, she crooned over the link. How nice of you to contact me.
He braced himself.
How’s Meadowcity? she asked sardonically.
He didn’t know what to say. It wasn’t often that he stole a hydrojet, left home for a week, then needed to speak with her.
I want to make a bargain with you, he said finally.
Indeed? And what do you have to bargain with, my dear, besides a jet which belongs to me?
He bit his lip, hard. You know Meadowcity is preparing for a last stand, he began. They need help. Real help, from Seascape.
Blood was in his mouth as he bit his lip harder, forcing the words through the link. I will take the serum, and do what you say—rule Seascape when the time comes. If you protect them.
There was silence in his thoughts. Then finally—
You would give up a life with her, to save her city?
And he realized his mother knew a lot more about him than he thought she did. He looked up at the rain falling from the black clouds overhead, waiting for her answer.
It will be done, she said, and closed the link.
He didn’t go back to bed for a very long time.
Forty-One
Though she was now soaking wet, Ember had to admit that the storm was a good thing.
A jolt went through her as another crack of lightning rent the air, and the following thunder rumbled deep through the earth. The edge of the rift was not a comforting place to be while a storm raged over it.
The remaining Scouts had already hurried their captives back inside the Citizen’s Hall before the storm broke, so as not to suffer too much wetness themselves.
The gatehouse was a tiny pinprick of light from their position on the west face of the rift. The rest of the city was dark.
An eerie purple sky boiled above them, turning it into a truly spectacular summer storm. Sheets of rain poured upon them, but the sound of their hammers pounding spikes into the cliff went unheard in the night. She only hoped the wind wouldn’t interfere with what they had to do.
What I wouldn’t give for one of those earlinks Sylvia has, Ember thought. Once dark had fallen—early, thanks to the storm—the others had dispersed to their assigned locations, each with their orders. She and Ven were all alone. If something went wrong elsewhere, they wouldn’t know until it was too late.
She reached up under her hood to wipe her face, then gave the last bolt a final strike, and with a clang, it was in.
Ven handed her the first length of rope, which she began fastening to the bolt with an intricate knot Apex had taught her. A knot she had been practicing for weeks. A knot she had woken up several times in the middle of the night dreaming she was tying.
The wet rope was hard to manipulate, but after a few tries, she got it. She yanked on it, hard. Ven had already dropped the second coil of rope next to the other bolt, a short distance away. She repeated the knot, this time foreseeing the trouble the wet rope would give her, and working with it. Another hard yank, and it was secure.
Already wearing their climbing gear, Ember hooked Ven onto his rope first. They didn’t need to talk, having drilled this tens of times during the past week. Ember was glad he hadn’t left, though her heart felt split in two for what might happen to Meadowcity when the Scouts got there.
Nerves jangling, it took a few tries to get his knot right. The fear of being responsible for him falling made her movements slow and calculated.
The false night the storm had brought on was lit periodically by flashes of lighting, and a dim purple glow—just enough to see by.
When they were both secure, all knots checked and tested, they crept toward the edge of the cliff.
“Ready?” she challenged him.
“Ready,” he replied, a nervous grin at his lips.
Hoping the other groups were ready, too, she turned her back to the rift, and leaned back.
With nothing but air and the rift below her, she lowered herself down. Her right hand finally free of its bandages, she held the rope firmly under her as she waited for Ven, who, unlike Ember, had never done this before.
“I know it seems wrong, but just sit back—it’ll hold,” she called.
After a second’s hesitation he leaned back, then gave a little kick on the face of the rock to get himself horizontal. He stared at her in amazement, but said nothing. Now they had work to do.
Rappelling in the storm was nothing short of terrifying, Ember mused darkly. If they lived past tonight, she would have no qualms about heights ever again.
The ropes that held them to the top buzzed with vibrations as the wind tore through the rift. By letting out only a little rope at a time, they stuck to the face of the rock and walked down backwards, not wishing to get stuck in a gust of wind that might rip them away.
It was slow going. With only the sound of the wind, and the occasional burst of thunder to scare them out of their wits, Ember couldn’t help but hope this storm would slow down the Scouts on their way to Meadowcity, too.
Far from the gatehouse and the main part of the city, they lowered past only two walkways carved into the rift. The few villas they spotted were, of course, deserted.
Feeling like she would never know what it was like to be dry again, she finally spotted what she was looking for, something she had never dreamed of seeing up close.
They drew level with one of the gadgets the farmers had dreamed up ages ago. One of several, built of metal and glass, it hung from the cliff wall, just as drenched as they were.
In her schooling, she had learned how the farmers of Riftcity managed to coax crops out of the soil on the levels far down in the deeper parts of the rift, with these contraptions of mirror and lens. And here she was, tampering with it. She grinned despite everything.
Ven came up alongside her, and they worked themselves into a niche in the structure, where they could finally set down their feet. Ember bounced on her heels, enjoying the steadiness of metal underneath her.
First, she helped unhook the enormous wrench strapped to Ven’s back. Still tied to his harness on one end to prevent losing it, she handed it to him, and they located the lens they needed to shift. She steadied the casing holding the lens as Ven got
to work on the bolts.
It had been Jack’s idea to tamper with the lenses. The farmers had to occasionally adjust the angles if any of the lenses were even the slightest bit off. The plants below relied on the light that bounced from mirror to mirror on either side of the rift.
As Jack had learned on one occasion, if too much light hit one spot, it caused the plants to wither in the concentrated sun.
Too much light, and it would get too hot. Tilt the lenses the right way, it would even start a fire. A fire that would be enough of a distraction to the remaining Scouts that they would never expect a full-blown assault on the city.
Wet as they were, it was hard for Ember to think of fire at a time like this, but from the diagrams Jack and the others had drawn up, and the careful calculations made, she desperately hoped that would be the outcome when the sun hit them in the morning.
“First bolt almost out,” Ven called up to her, and she braced herself, cradling the lens carefully in her arms.
They would only need to adjust it by a small amount, which she would measure with a curious triangle of wood in her pocket, cut to the correct angle. That had been Ven’s idea.
She smiled, looking down at him, tediously turning the bolt, spinning the wrench around and around.
“Steady,” he called, and she secured her grip on the wet lens.
It was then that she felt a tug on her rope.
A tug, not whipping from the wind. She looked up, horror in her eyes, at the two dark shapes on the last ledge they had passed, directly above them, where their ropes hung.
She opened her mouth to say something to Ven, but with a final twist, the next bolt came free—just as a violent wrenching came through her rope.
And then she was falling.
Forty-Two
Ven couldn’t breathe.
Ember.
He had barely registered the fact that she was gone, her rope whipping through the structure, when he felt a violent yank on his own rope, and looked up.
