by Liz Delton
He heard cursing on the wind, and it wasn’t his own.
Two dark shapes lurked on the ledge far above. Then suddenly, he was lifted from his feet.
Rain battered his face as he was helplessly reeled upward, the wrench dangling from his harness. Seizing on the idea, he flung an arm behind him and found cold metal.
She was gone.
All he could think of was Ember’s rain-slick face, disappearing beneath his feet. And it crushed him, seizing his heart and tightening until he couldn’t breathe.
His eyes stung, but if tears rolled down his cheeks along with the rain, he didn’t know.
His grip on the wrench tightened as he was jolted ever upward by the unseen Scouts. Whatever they intended to do with him, he would be ready for them.
Jerkily he rose to the ledge, wrench in hand, rage in his soul.
Instead of two Scouts at the top, he was met by the open door of a dark villa, where his rope trailed.
He grabbed the railing of the stone path and hurled himself over it, running straight into the darkened villa.
But there was no one inside.
Too late, he realized his mistake, and he spun around. There they were, silhouetted by the glow of the storm, waiting with the ends of his rope.
They had it around him before he could raise the wrench, and the wet coils were tightened around his arms and torso.
One of them kicked his knees from behind, and he fell. The joints met stone with a jolt.
He looked up at the two Scouts, wishing he had fallen, wishing he had somehow remembered about the knife in his boot, and had cut his own line.
So he didn’t have to do this alone, without her.
Forty-Three
It was some time before Ven became conscious, and even longer before he remembered why he hadn’t been.
With a gasp, he sat up, still bound by his climbing rope. He had been laying on the cold stone veranda in front of the Citizen’s Hall, still soaked from the night before—for it was morning, he realized. The sun shone down traitorously upon him.
Ember.
Gone.
He turned in on himself then, the final blow of remembrance sending him spiraling into unawareness. He saw her face, mouth open in surprise, sliding down into the rift. Away from him.
He didn’t care when they jerked him to his feet and made him shuffle forward.
When he tripped on the loose ropes binding him, he felt nothing when he fell face first into the stone. The blood running into his mouth told him of a broken nose, but it was all numb. Everything was numb.
But when they put him in a line next to Flint, Jack, and Striker, a thread of awareness pulled his head up.
They were standing by the railing of the wide veranda outside the Citizen’s Hall, as if on a stage. Riftcitizens were spilling out of the hall, the Scouts pulling them forward, wanting them to watch whatever was about to happen.
Whatever was about to happen was rather clear. A single Scout armed with a bow stood in the middle of the veranda, a full quiver strapped to his side. An execution, then.
“Good morning,” an unfamiliar Scout cried sardonically to the crowd. The wolf next to him paced back and forth, agitated by the number of people still pouring out of the hall.
Flint fidgeted next to Ven, kicking the end of his rope out from under his feet. “Where’s Ember?” he hissed.
Ven swallowed, but his mouth was so dry he couldn’t speak, only croaked, “She fell.”
Flint’s face froze into a horrible mask. Ven closed his eyes briefly, then met his friend’s gaze. Though he hadn’t gotten along with Flint since returning to Riftcity, they shared a look that dove deep down into his gut. Wild eyes the same as Ember’s gazed back at him, filling with tears.
The Scout continued, yanking their attention back to the proceedings. “You’ve been assembled here this morning, all of you, to witness what happens to those who disobey orders.”
“I’ve come from Skycity directly,” the greasy little man went on. “There’s no need to fight us—we’re all working for the same thing! The Four Cities are working for unification.”
A spark of fire lit in Ven’s heart at the man’s words, and he couldn’t stop himself from crying, “Four Cities? What about Lightcity?”
The words tore from his throat, but didn’t hurt him. In fact, they filled him with a hot flame, and more words poured from his mouth, “You killed them!” he roared. And in his heart, he knew it was true. Ember had taught him that much.
“You, and Greyling, and all the Scouts!”
Flint raised his voice to the accusations. “This war is pointless! You’re killing just for greed!”
Someone yanked Ven’s rope, forcing him down to his knees. The prick of a blade alerted him to the knife at his throat.
But their words had sparked something. A rumble rolled through the crowd, filled with mutterings and whispers and the occasional shout.
The wolf pacing the courtyard barked at the commotion.
And it dawned on Ven. All of Riftcity was assembled, with fewer Scouts than ever before. They just needed a reason.
Without caring about the blade at his throat, he roared, “Riftcity, we can take them!”
* * *
It was chaos.
As one, the crowd broke free of its bonds, pushing back the Scouts at the front of the line. The Riftcitizens needed no further enticement.
Ven was back on his feet, and the Scout behind him had disappeared. A knife was in Flint’s hands, which poked from beneath his ropes, but there was no way they could cut through the coils wrapped around them in time.
The crowd spilled down the steps from the Hall in waves crashing toward them, toward the contingent of Scouts.
Ven slithered his own hands below the rope coils, and grabbed Flint. “Come on!” he shouted to the other two, and they ran to the right, away from the oncoming crowd.
The wolves and mountain lions present cut and bolted. Several sprinted past Ven and the others as they hauled themselves up the steps on the side of the veranda and out of the way.
As they worked on freeing themselves from the wet coils, they watched as the Riftcitizens uniformly forced the Scouts toward the edge of the rift. There was no stopping them.
Each and every Scout was pushed over the railing.
Ven did not blame them. His ropes loosened suddenly, and with Flint’s help, he got free of the coils, and they each got to work on Striker and Jack.
His heart was pounding furiously in his ears. The crowd behind him was roaring in joy, in freedom, in insanity.
The four rebels watched in stunned silence as the citizens of Riftcity freed themselves.
Forty-Four
Death is so uncomfortable, Ember thought.
She was wet, something was digging into her legs, and her back and neck ached fiercely. I thought it would be more peaceful.
She was floating in the air, a light breeze caressing her face, and the sun beaming down upon her.
Then a drop of water fell onto her face. Her eyes flew open.
She was hanging from the lens structure.
The rope must have caught, she realized. She was hanging by her hips, the harness tight around her legs and waist.
Slowly, carefully, she tightened her core muscles and tried to bring her head up. Her legs burned like fire as blood returned to them, and she remained frozen until they stopped tingling.
She hugged the rope holding her, buried her face in it, and let the tears leak from her eyes.
She sat there, just breathing, for several long moments. Finally, when she was content with breathing, she peaked out from her hands.
The rift stretched on below her. Far down, she could see the dark swathes of earth that made up the tiers of the farming levels, the ones the structure was poised to give light to.
She looked up then, fearing to see that rope hanging there—Ven’s rope, which the Scouts had undoubtedly cut after hers.
But it wasn’t there. Not a
scrap of it. Only the remains of hers, flapping sadly against the rift.
Dumbfounded, she scanned the rest of the cliff, seeing nothing and no one. It was then that she heard the roar of a crowd.
What in Arcera is going on? she wondered. Not entirely sure how she was going to get out of this situation, she was content to slowly spin, as the rope willed. But curiosity gnawed at her.
The roaring grew louder, and she tried to spin herself back to look in its direction. It sounded like it was coming from the Citizen’s Hall.
The movement made her drop like a stone, and she jerked to a stop a short distance down.
Her stream of curses echoed through the rift, her heart pounding madly in her throat.
She froze, realizing that the rope above hadn’t stuck quite so securely to the structure. The wet coils wouldn’t hold forever, wrapped around whatever they were caught on.
She closed her eyes and hugged herself to the rope again.
Her thoughts returned to Ven, wondering what his fate was, and who had cut his rope from the very top of the rift.
Then there were the other rebels—had they, too, suffered at the hands of the Scouts, or had they gotten out before being discovered?
A strong breeze flew by her, and she clenched the rope, fearing for another drop, perhaps her last.
But a sound above made her open her eyes. She saw movement on the level from where the Scouts had cut her rope, but then it was gone.
She closed her eyes again, knowing she only had to wait for one good breeze, and it would all be over.
At least it sounds like the Scouts have been overthrown, she thought to herself, finally realizing that the crowd’s cheers were joyous—and there was only one outcome she knew that would bring that kind of joy. I can be happy knowing that, at least.
The echoes of cheers were building to a chorus through the rift, their sounds bouncing from east to west between the cliffs.
And then a drum beat was added. Thump. Thump. Thump.
Peeling her eyes open once more, she looked up again.
There was Apex, rappelling from the ledge, his feet bouncing off the cliff with a thump each time they hit stone.
“Apex!” she gasped, and he paused, craning to look down at her.
“Oh, you’re awake, are you? I thought you were taking a nap before climbing up.”
“The rope,” she called, her heart pounding, “It’s loose! It’s slipped already.”
“I’ll just be careful, then,” he grumbled.
He came even with the structure, surveying it to find where her rope was caught. Then, with a few expert bounces, he lowered himself onto the structure, and she lost sight of him for several minutes.
“I’ve got the end of your rope,” he called to her calmly. “I’m tying it off to a support, all right? So if you slip, you’ll catch. It’s secure now.”
Ember couldn’t help but admire the patience in his voice. She dangled helplessly, feeling each tiny tug at her rope and fearing each one, despite his assurance.
“I’m going to pull you up now,” he announced, and she let out a breath, clinging to the rope in front of her face.
“Okay,” she agreed shakily.
Slowly she began to rise, and she could feel each grunt of effort as Apex reeled her in.
Thousands of questions swam about her mind, but she waited, keeping her mouth shut until Apex reached out a hand and yanked her onto the platform.
Instead of her barrage of questions, she flung her arms out and around Apex’s broad torso.
Great sobs burst from out of nowhere, and Apex pulled back.
“What are you crying for?” he wondered. “Riftcity’s free.”
Forty-Five
Just as many had predicted, the Scouts tore through Meadowcity’s initial defenses with as much force as a summer storm.
Most of the pits and traps were sniffed out by the wolves long before the Scouts even got to them. Likewise, Meadowcity’s archers in the wilds were quickly sniffed out—and either forced to climb higher up trees to avoid the Scouts’ arrows, or were put a stop to entirely as Greyling and his men continued their murderous invasion.
Sylvia was helpless to do anything but watch from the hydrojet while Greyling led them on toward the gate. The Scouts began to branch off to surround the city, armed with explosives, and keeping out of sight of the archers on the wall.
Though it had rained last night, the woods around Meadowcity were dry from weeks of summer sun. The Defenders couldn’t risk using the explosives pilfered from the Scouts. If the Scouts attacked with their own orbs, they could set the wilds on fire for miles. Sylvia clenched her fists, staring unblinkingly at the looking-glass image.
After barely getting any sleep last night, waking often to check the Scouts’ progress through the wilds, Sylvia had loaded up with as many weapons as she could carry, and headed to meet the others at the hydrojet.
The Gate Keepers had warned her that they wouldn’t open the gate again. She assured them she wouldn’t be going back inside until it was over. If she ever did again.
With that cheerful thought, she had headed into the cloaked hydrojet after sending a link to Emrick to open the hatch.
They all had their new fire-proof armor on, courtesy of Neve. Sylvia’s creaked with the settlings of new leather.
Atlan looked gaunt and tired, and she guessed he had gotten about as much sleep as she did, even though he had left her villa early enough last night, heading home in the rain.
Talia was actually sprawled on the floor of the bridge, doing some stretches, readying for battle. Colin and Lena had elected to stay inside the city with Gero, so they could communicate from all points of the city.
Emrick and Alice were talking over the jet’s controls again. When Sylvia entered, Alice offered to operate the drone for her, to which she gratefully agreed. She knew where Greyling was; now her task was stopping him.
Sylvia watched with sickening attention as Scouts came inside the range of Meadowcity’s archers, who began firing arrow after arrow.
But they kept coming, many with shields, or enough sense to dive behind trees for cover. Greyling had emptied most of his forces from Riftcity, that much was clear. In the back of her mind, she wondered how in the world things were going in Riftcity with so few Scouts, but she would think about that later.
Right now, a horde of Scouts and their beasts were circling the city. To everyone’s intense relief, none of them had any orbs at the ready. Though the fire-proof armor had been given to those who remained to fight, it would only work with so much flame. A wild forest fire would be no match for them.
Atlan and the others must think our defenses are a joke, she thought bitterly as the Scouts easily got by another barricade. But like each one before it, it slowed them down, just a little more. Just a little more time.
With the hydrojet parked up on a hill above Meadowcity, they watched the looking-glass as Greyling entered the shadow of the gate trees, and the contingent stopped.
Greyling stood at the head of the pack, his hands held up, mouth moving.
Sylvia didn’t remember getting up, but she was on her feet.
“Turn the sound on,” Emrick urged.
It took Alice a few seconds to manipulate the command, but suddenly they were hearing Greyling’s words, echoing across the bridge.
“—surrounded, I think you know. If you cooperate, I’ll make it much easier for Meadowcity.”
No one on the wall replied. Sylvia imagined someone had run to get Gero.
“I just want you to return my prisoner, Sylvia Thorne—” her eyes fluttered closed fast, “—and Savannah Dovetail,” he spat his former love’s name.
Atlan raised his eyebrows at Sylvia.
“Me and Anna?” she echoed. She had to admit, it wasn’t entirely what she had been expecting, but it could work.
Just then, a link poked through her thoughts, and Lena was there.
Gero wants to talk to you, she told Sylvia. Are you li
stening to this?
Yes, Sylvia replied, suddenly feeling like she was going to throw up.
Her time under Greyling’s fist had taught her a lot about his motives. They could use it. They could buy more time.
Tell Gero to let him in, she commanded. And if she’ll agree to it, ask Anna to go outside the Citizen’s Hall and meet him.
Forty-Six
Governor Sorin Greyling waited patiently.
He counted his breaths since the messenger on the wall had disappeared into the wooded city. He was up to forty-seven.
The Scouts beside him chafed at his change in tactic, but he didn’t care. They were here because of him. Forty-eight.
Falx looked unhappy to be here at all, with Grebe left in charge of Riftcity, but Sorin had wanted his most trusted Scout to help him lead the attack; even if he was wounded, he was still his best fighter. Sorin licked his lips in the warm summer sun. Forty-nine. The wall was silent but for a whisper of the leaves on the treewall—or was it the whispers of the men cowering behind its trunks?
Meadowcity’s defenses had been altogether pathetic. It was a wonder he hadn’t flattened them before. The last time, he reflected, he had still been under the delusion that he needed its citizens for his cause. But he knew better now.
He almost laughed when the gate opened with a great creaking of hinges. He would berate his Scouts for not trusting him later when this was over, and they had taken the city.
He had to stop himself from smiling as he strode through the ancient gate trees, looming high above. It would have been a shame to destroy them, anyway, he thought.
With a signal, he bade the Scouts follow him inside. Directly ahead, the door of the Citizen’s Hall swung open, and out she stepped. Savannah.
The last time he had seen her had been in this very courtyard, just before Summer’s End. Joy and anger warred inside his heart at the sight of her. Finally, he would show her why he had hidden things from her all those years ago. Finally, he would make her listen.
