Meadowcity (22 page)

Flushing, Sorin continued, Falx silent at his heels. 
Amazing
, he thought. 
There’s so much we can learn from them.  The train, especially...

Sorin pictured it speeding through the hills of Arcera, completely eliminating the fear of the wilds.  One could travel to another city in a day, instead of a week.

Soon, Oliver stopped and Sorin tore his eyes away from the gently glowing ceiling, to land upon a high wooden door.  This one had beautiful symmetrical carvings, swirling around and drawing the eye to the metal handles; though Sorin bet that behind it laid another beam, ready to secure the thick looking doors. 

Another darkly dressed man stood just by the doors, noting their arrival.  He took a step in front of the doors, barring their way.

“ ‘Old on there,” he said.  Oliver stepped aside, clearly expecting this.

“No weapons past this door,” the man said, looking them over.

Falx reached and pulled two knives out of his boots, and another from his belt, handing them over.  Sorin shrugged at the man, shaking his head.  The man narrowed his eyes at him, but after a sweeping assessment, gave him a reluctant nod.

Oliver reached out and gave the handle a mighty jerk, the heavy oak swinging open on thick black hinges.  Just inside the door stood another man dressed in all black.  He nodded to Oliver and resumed a professional stare into nothing.  Sorin was beginning to wonder at all of the security.

The hall spread wide before them, thick wooden beams stretching high to support the slatted ceiling.  The walls reflected the light of dozens of globes hanging from the ceiling, but it wasn’t the fiery glow that he was used to, these were full of a steady light.  The orbs delicately lit the sparse receiving hall, empty but for the woman sitting on a tall high back chair on a dais down at the other end.

Oliver beckoned Sorin and Falx forward, and he led them to the dais.  Sorin marveled that the huge room had not a single window, for that was how Skycity brought all of their light in during the daylight hours.  The globes were quite bright enough, but it felt closed off.

Lady Blackwater was perched upon the chair, raised only one step above them.  He immediately noticed her long face and even longer black hair, which fell down to her waist, straight as a pin.  Several curls were pinned atop her head, making her look even taller than she appeared, even sitting down as she was.  She wore a pale blue gown covered in swirling silver designs.  The fabric shimmered as she shifted to look at the strangers, and Sorin thought he saw the pattern shift as well, but it was just a trick of the odd artificial light.

Oliver stopped several feet from the dais, and bowed his head slightly.  Sorin clasped his hands behind his back again, changing his stance to a wider one.  Unsure of the protocol, he waited for the Lady to speak.  Falx was a silent presence two steps back.

“Thank you, Oliver,” she said, craning her neck minutely to the blonde man.  He nodded deeply and turned to leave.  Sorin could hear his footsteps retreating as the Lady’s narrowing eyes passed over him.

“So, you’re the strangers from Skycity,” she said, her voice surprisingly deep, slow and smooth.

Sorin stepped forward, “I’m Sorin, Governor of Skycity,” he said.  “We’ve come to—“

She raised a pale hand, and he stopped speaking.  She was still narrowing her eyes at him.

He took half a step back.

“We know your city, of course,” she said slowly.  “So.  I’m sure you’re wondering what we’re doing here,” she spread her thin arms, the shimmery material forming a V at each wrist.

Sorin nodded, biting back tens of questions.

“You see perhaps, that our city is different than yours.  Technologies lost to you have thrived here.  You know the story of the Arcere?” she questioned, piercing Sorin with her bright grey eyes.  He nodded.

“Kendrick, Kal, Kent and Kilis.  But do you know of Karalyn?”

He nodded again, unsure if she wanted him to speak.  He stared into her pale face, mesmerized.

“Karalyn came to this island, to forge a community, as they all did.  The brothers had to carve, and cut, and build to make their cities safe, but the island was already protected by its waters.”

“But she found more than protection here.  Our predecessors left us much underground, in tunnels and hidden war rooms.  Karalyn reveled in the technologies lost, now unearthed.  There was so much they could rebuild, she thought.”

The Lady paused, then flicked her fingers, jumping back in to the story. 

“But her brothers spat upon her.  They refused.  They despised a return of the old ways,” she said.

A soft noise behind him turned out to be Falx scuffing his boot—Sorin had forgotten he was even there.

“Ignorance,” she continued softly.  “Her brothers refused her ideas.  They bleated that her discoveries would bring the world to ruin, just as it had before.  So they exiled her from history, shoving Seascape under the rug, as it were.  We were not to be traded with, not to be contacted, nor to be traveled to.  The discrimination continued even after the brothers passed on, and after a few generations, we were simply…forgotten.”

Sorin was transfixed, gazing at the Lady in her shimmery dress.  He knew there was
some
reason they had been hidden.  He hazarded to speak.  His most pressing question.

“But why— do you remain hidden?”

Again the piercing look.  Her bright grey eyes looked strange upon her face, not like any he had ever seen.  She paused for a long time.  Sorin wondered if she would answer
any
of his questions.

“We thrive on our island.  We choose our seclusion, away from your cities.”

So they didn’t want anything to do with the Four Cities
, he thought, but carried on anyway.

“Surely, a relationship with the Cities, would be beneficial for all of us,” he said, watching her frown as he spoke. 

Her brow lowered and she leaned forward infinitesimally.

“There is nothing you have that we want,” she said succinctly.

Blown aback, Sorin tried another tack.

“Inclusion.  We become the Five Cities,” he said.  Surely she wanted something.  His heart began to beat faster.

She waved her pale hand at him, as if swatting a fly.

“Seascape has sustained and soared throughout the decades, what have the Four Cities shown?  You are stagnant, walking in circles year after year.” 

Sorin was cut by her words.  Skycity strove year after year for knowledge, what else would he be here for?  She was just bitter.  Bitter that Seascape had been cast aside from the beginning.

As if to solidify his newest theory, she continued.

“Seascape has no need for more citizens, who only seek to—steal—our treasures.”

“Lady Blackwater,” he said, gathering himself.  He couldn’t leave here empty handed.  Months of pouring his own money, and even some of Skycity’s funds into this project couldn’t amount to nothing.  He became aware of Falx behind him, quietly witnessing his failure.

“Seascape is clearly superior to our Cities, in many ways.  We have nothing to compare to your technologies.  Even your lamps burn brighter than ours,” he tried to smile at her.

“But I think it’s time we reunited Arcera.  You could become renowned throughout the land—your train system, for example, could pass through Arcera, making travel between the Cities safer, faster.”

“We choose to remain apart,” she said simply.  He saw her eyes flick to the man at the door, and suddenly he heard footsteps.

“Talk to your city—ask them!  How can you know what the entire island wants?” he shouted.

The footsteps behind him stopped just a few feet away.  The back of Sorin’s neck tingled.

Lady Blackwater rose from her chair, and Sorin’s eyes didn’t mistake him, the dress
did
shift.  The swirls dropped and swooped as the folds of the dress fell.  The woman was incredibly tall, certainly in no need of the additional height the dais afforded.  Sorin was relieved to see she bore tiny wrinkles around her eyes, at least some evidence that she had flaws.

“I did—I do.  They have heard you just as I have heard you.”

Sorin cocked his head as she strode behind her high backed chair.

“I have told you Seascape harbors technologies you have never dreamed of.” 

As she turned, Sorin saw a strange silver nub tucked in her ear.

She brushed her hand over what Sorin thought were stones behind the chair, each lighting up a bright color as her skin touched it.  He remembered the children playing with the panels at the school, drawing on them in color with their fingers.

“Seascape has heard you.  And we say no.”

Chapter Twenty Seven
 

In a blur, Sorin and Falx were whisked out of the receiving hall, catching only one last glimpse of Lady Blackwater before the heavy door slammed behind them.  No less than three men escorted them through the empty hallways until they reached the foyer.  Oliver was nowhere to be seen.

So he hadn’t been imagining it.  They didn’t want them here.  Seascape was selfish, hoarding their knowledge and laughing at the other cities as they dabbled in their old technology out in the wilds.

It was hardly an hour since they had arrived by boat. 

They were led out into the street.  The sun shone tauntingly down on them, glinting off the black roofs and the street, feeding the city energy, powering who-knew-what technology they had.

The men walked closely about them, though the streets were fairly empty now.  They passed the train rails and Sorin stared at them with an ache.  He would never know.  Their selfishness overwhelmed him.

They reached the docks, Sorin’s stomach sinking low. 
How could it be over so quickly?
  He looked back at Seascape, the black roofs mocking him in the distance.  Half a year’s work, gone.  He remembered the Scouts at the Den with a jolt—
what was he going to tell them?

The men had led them to a boat.  With all of his soul, Sorin did not want to get in it.

It happened in a second.  One of the men pushed Falx to get in the boat, but Falx smacked him away with his huge hand. 

The man pulled a thick silver cylinder out of his belt, thrusting it into Falx’s side.  The huge Scout went down, slamming onto the boards of the dock.  Sorin blinked.

He backed away a quick step, keeping away from that cylinder, holding his palms up.

After checking his heartbeat, two men lifted Falx into the boat, leaving him on the floorboards.  Without a word, Sorin reached down and got into the boat.  A round faced man reached down and kicked the boat away from the dock.  And just like that it was over.  Sorin had failed.

Floating free, he looked down around the boat. 
How was he supposed to use this thing?
  He stood and balanced his way over to the seat in the middle, spotting the oars, as Val had called them.  Falx looked strangely delicate with his eyes closed, unnerving him.

With a lurch he pulled the oars to him, sinking them through the water.  He looked at the shore, where Airic no doubt stood.

Another pull on the oars.
This was going to take a while
.

Chapter Twenty Eight

So they ran.  They reached another staircase down in no time, and Ven and Ember went first.  Sylvia ran her hand down the smooth stone rail as she raced down the steps.  They reached the path at the bottom of the stairs, sprinting in the direction of the gate.

Sylvia’s legs stretched out long, adrenaline coursing through her muscles.  Past abandoned villas and down perfectly straight paths, they shot out for the gate, but in one instant, Ven and Ember halted, skidding to a stop in front.

The path simply ended.  Torn by an explosion, a whole chunk of the path had been obliterated, far too large of a gap to jump.

Eyes wide, Sylvia lurched back and looked down the path.  In the distance, she could see movement. 
Trapped,
she thought, staring back at the explosion site.  Getting caught now could mean death.

There was a tiny ledge left protruding from the cliff wall, that
maybe
they could get across on.  Sylvia stepped through the others, doing a quick survey of the ledge.

She approached the edge, reaching out and hugging the cliff face as she stuck one foot out on the ledge.  Ven met her eyes before she stepped off, a look of desperation meeting hers.

He went to the back urging Flint and Ember to go forward, as he kept an eye on the approaching Scouts.

Sylvia’s cheek pressed against the cliff face as she now edged both feet across the inches-wide ledge.  Scraping her cheek along the stone, she tried not to focus on the wind whipping out of the rift, so she tried to think of something—anything else.

The glass bead at her throat scraped on the cliff, bringing up a sharp memory of home, and hugging her sister goodbye.  As she crept along, she focused her thoughts on Meadowcity.  She felt someone behind her edging along after her, their breath on the cliff face heavy.

After what felt like an eternity, Sylvia’s leading foot encountered more than just a few inches to stand on.  Gut clenched tight, she inched her way to the solid path, finally setting both feet down firmly.  An immense feeling of relief washed through her.

Dancing away from the edge, she held out a hand to Ember, who was coming over after her.  She and Sylvia reached out for Flint next, and finally Ven.

Sylvia looked at the explosion site with incredulity, not knowing quite how they had possibly made it across safely.

Suddenly, footfalls became obvious as several Scouts came into view.

One look at the exploded path and they turned around, surely knowing another way.

Spirits riding high, they ran for the gate.

They ran for ages.  There was silence following them, and a small hope that they might actually make it out flashed through Sylvia.

But then she realized it was not quite silent behind her, and she turned her head to see Flint lagging behind, his ragged breathing becoming very evident.  Ven and Ember couldn’t hear it ahead over their feet pounding down on the path.

“Wait,” Sylvia called, not even a little out of breath yet.

Ven looked over his shoulder as he slowed his pace, and Sylvia jabbed her thumb behind her at Flint.  Ember, too, turned and slowed to a stop as she realized that Flint was struggling.  The four of them stood still on the shaded path, their ears now filled with the sound of Flint’s rasping breath.  He stood clutching his chest with one hand, eyes wide, not looking at them.

He bent double and coughed, a long, hacking cough, and turned to spit over into the rift.  Sylvia wasn’t sure, but she thought whatever had gone over the side looked red.

“No,” he said hoarsely.  “You have to keep going—this is the only way out now.”

You
have to keep going?
  Sylvia had noticed the small but significant choice of words—and so did Ember.

“Flint,” Ember started, the one word full of emotion; but he cut her off with a gesture, looking back at the paths.

“Run in front,” Ven suggested quickly, his eyes straining to look behind them at the center of the city.  His eyes widened and he pointed silently.

“Go,” Sylvia said suddenly, looking back and seeing movement on a bridge, her pulse racing in her ears. 

“Let’s go!” she shouted when he didn’t move. 

“Go at a pace you can handle,” she pleaded, and pushed his shoulder forward.

Flint rocked into motion and the three of them nervously jogged behind him, Ven taking the back now, a knife suddenly in his grip.

Sylvia strained her ears for the sound of the Scouts gaining on them. 
But if they’ve sent the lions, we won’t hear them coming,
she thought.  They would only notice when the lions leapt upon them, going straight for their necks.  Sylvia whipped her head to look behind them. 
Nothing there.

“They’re far back still,” Ven said, seeing her wide eyes.

“They probably think we can’t get through the gate,” Ember said, her long red hair bouncing with each footfall.

“Can we?” Sylvia said.  The gatehouse looked invisible from this angle, far above their heads.

No one answered, the sound of their feet echoing loudly in Sylvia’s ears.  They were going to
have to
get through the gate
.  Otherwise we’re trapped.

They descended another staircase, and another.  It felt so wrong to go down when their goal was up, but the Great Staircase only connected with the lowest level.  When the city had grown after its initial settlement, they had carved up to expand.

They descended the last staircase and Flint picked up speed on the way down, but it didn’t last long once he reached the bottom and the flat path.  This was one of the oldest paths in Riftcity, probably carved out by Kilis himself.  The weathered stone was now grey, even darker in the shade of the wall above them.  The villa entrances were spaced closer together, but they were probably dug deeper into the cliff.

At last the four of them spilled out onto the wide half circle veranda and looked up at the impossibly tall stairs.  Flint stopped, bending and clutching his knees trying to regulate his ragged breathing.  Sylvia crouched down and yanked her long knife out of her boot, wishing she had her spear, just like she was sure Ven was aching for his bow; both safely tucked away in the tunnel.

“There,” Ven said, pointing to the right, to the West face.  Sylvia, Flint and Ember followed his finger to see four Scouts in their dark vests jogging easily toward them, with only two levels to go until they caught up.

Adrenaline zinged through Sylvia, but she took a shaky breath and reached for the knife hidden at her hip, unbuckling it and giving it to Ember without a word.  The taller girl took it with a nod of thanks, spinning it in her hands nervously.

Sylvia looked around the veranda, its massive stone pavers mostly shaded, but the sun would soon be overhead making all the shadows disappear for a few short minutes when it shone directly down into the rift.  She saw recessed doors in the two back corners of the veranda, now guessing they lead down to the Farming Level below them.  There was no way out but up.

She looked over at Flint, who nodded at her; his breath wasn’t quite even, but he wasn’t hacking anymore.  In his hand was one of Ven’s hunting knives, still sheathed.

“Let’s go,” she said grimly, her eyes scanning the West face for the oncoming Scouts.

They turned and crossed the veranda in long strides.  Syliva knew Flint had no chance of running now, so she took the lead and climbed the stairs at a steady pace. 

She made the mistake of looking up once as her legs began to protest, and the stairs above cowed her with their height.  Instead she turned to look behind them, but when she spotted the Scouts, they were standing on the second level up, fiddling with something.

“They stopped,” she cried doubtfully.

A heavy feeling rose from the pit of her stomach.  “Keep going,” she barked. 

She pushed her legs to keep going up as her muscles screamed, each step higher tearing through her thighs.

She heard someone trip behind her, and whipped her head back to see Flint crouched down on the stairs, his hands pressed hard into the stone after catching his fall.

Then, a sound like no other ripped through the air beneath them, and they were thrown violently into the stairs. 

Sylvia opened her eyes to see nothing but smoke and dust, and her ears wouldn’t stop ringing.  A hard stair dug into her ribs and she pushed herself up, looking around for the others through the haze.  She inhaled and then choked out the breath immediately.  She brought up her blouse to cover her nose and mouth, desperately trying to draw a fresh breath, but the air was loaded with smoke.

Through the dust and smoke she could see Ember a few steps below, and two dark shapes moving behind. Flint’s racking cough wasn’t the only one echoing through the haze.

Sylvia forced her tired legs underneath her and tried to stand, one hand holding her shirtfront to her face as she spotted her long knife a few stairs down. 

Through the rift came a swift breeze, which managed to clear away some of the smoke, and Sylvia looked down.

An entire segment of the stairs was gone.

And the rest were on fire.

“Get up!” she shouted wildly, standing shakily on the step, the muscles in her legs beyond tired by the height they had already climbed.

She reached down to help Ember as Ven and Flint stood, all of them staring down at the fire.  Smoke was now drifting into the city, the breeze swooping down the stairs, revealing even more destruction.  Entire chunks of rock were thrown from the site of the explosion. 

Was that just from one firebomb?
  She looked up to where the gate hid, knowing that the Scouts up there would be coming to investigate

The fire itself wasn’t spreading, but the heat began to rapidly climb after them. 

“Let’s go.”

Shirts to their noses, the four began to climb for the gatehouse, Sylvia’s legs wobbly on the steps.

The stairs were beginning to narrow noticeably the closer they got to the top.  Sylvia knew the topmost part of the stairs was the thinnest—only allowing one person to fit through at a time.  It seemed an excellent defense built in from the city’s founding, but terrible for a mass exodus. 

What would they do if there was an emergency?
Sylvia thought madly, then,
I guess they found that out already.

The rift walls were closing in on them with every step, and Ven moved up front with Sylvia to take point, a knife in each hand. 

They could hear shouting now up ahead, and Sylvia’s heart pounded painfully in her chest.  Her legs felt weak.  They still couldn’t see the top. 

She reached up and wiped the sweat off her forehead with the back of her wrist, and finally lowered her shirt to take a breath of air now that they were above the majority of the smoke.

Suddenly the walls closed in on them and they burst through the opening; Ven fell onto the first Scout, bringing them both grappling to the ground.  He had already thrown one knife at a grey wolf guarding the gate, and met his mark soundly. 

Sylvia turned to see another massive grey wolf running straight for her, its master standing back under the arch by the gatehouse, sneering at them.

Sylvia brandished her long knife high and ran at the wolf, raising her voice into an ugly yell, trying to intimidate it into submission with her sheer size.  But these wolves had been trained by people, and now Sylvia felt she could tell the difference between a wild one and a trained one.  They simply weren’t afraid.

Then suddenly the grey wolf was on her, its front paws knocking painfully into her shoulder—not her chest as she had expected—and they both went down, her knife flung from her hand, the entire arm numb.   Its reeking breath hot on her face, the grey mass of fur lunged for her throat, a seemingly quick and easy kill.

Grabbing her unfeeling right arm with her left hand, she brought them both up stiffly aimed at the beast’s throat and locked her elbows.

Too late to change its trajectory, the wolf’s own inertia was used against it as Sylvia’s linked fists rammed into its throat.  A mangled yelp, and Sylvia threw the animal off her with her left arm, where it lay motionless, its breathing slowed to almost a stop, as she had surely crushed its windpipe.