The Clockwork Crown (20 page)

King Kethan followed her gaze. “Wyrm alarms. Earthquakes will set off the bells.”

“What good would that really do?”

“Would you rather die fighting with a gun in hand, or while you sleep in your cot?”

Octavia was quiet for a moment. “There's no right answer. I'd prefer not to die at all.”

King Kethan inclined his head with a smile.

Dogs struck up a howling chorus and bounded out to meet them. The three scraggly mutts stopped cold about fifteen feet away and stared in utter silence.

A man stepped into the doorway of the sod house. He held a rifle with the grace of a person who knew how to use one.

“Greetings!” called Octavia. “We're travelers in search of hospitality.”
Please don't shoot us.

“Good God, did you make it over the pass dressed like that?”

Octavia was taken aback—­it was a woman's voice. “We had more, but we lost some to soldiers, and our horse—­”

“Needn't say any more.” The woman in man's garb whistled sharply. The silent dogs scampered back toward the sod barn. She frowned at the mutts, clearly puzzled by their behavior. “Soldiers take what they will.” She looked Octavia up and down, her already dark skin flushing more. “They didn't—­”

“No,” said Octavia. “I'm not hurt.”

“Small mercies. I grant you the hospitality of my house. My name is Bruna.”

Octavia stepped across the threshold first. She recalled that Wasters more readily accepted first-­name familiarity. “I'm Octavia. This is my grandfather.”

“Mr. Everett,” said King Kethan, his voice raspy.

“The road has been hard for you both. Please, come to our table, we just began our evening repast.”

It was not difficult to find the table. The dugout consisted of one room. The table was in the center, formed of old planks. A woman and two children sat there. Octavia did not need to see below the woman's skirts to know one leg was fully gone to midthigh, the stump poorly cut. The worst of the infections were past, but they had left a lingering strain on her song and in her young face. The two children looked almost like twins, though their songs differed slightly. Their eyes were wide at the shock of seeing guests.

“Pardon me if I don't stand, I've been ill,” said the woman at the table. “I'm Farrell. Please share our meager feast and accept our salt, for we are glad for a wayfarer's presence.”

That sounds like an old poem, the sort Father would have known.

“We wayfarers are glad to share in this feast, though we bring little more than our company,” answered King Kethan. Octavia looked at him with surprise. Farrell and Bruna smiled, each with a fist to their chest. After a nudge, the two little ones followed suit.

Here I thought they would shoot us on sight as obvious Caskentians, but then, so many Wasters came from Caskentia.
Octavia sat on large rock that placed the table at about her chest height. The fare was indeed meager, but her mouth watered at the sight of roasted rabbit with root vegetables and a small stack of flatbread. Bruna split their portions onto two battered tin plates.

Octavia's fingers shook as she attempted to grip a two-­tined fork. Her thumb didn't want to flex. She took small, precise bites and savored each taste as if it might be her last.
It may well be.
At the very least, her stiffened skin prevented her from shoveling in food.

“You are a medician?” asked Farrell.

Octavia froze. The query sounded innocent enough, but by this point, she knew better. “I am.”
No point in denying it, with my satchel and full robes. “
We're on a pilgrimage to the Tree. Have you seen others?”

The two women shared a grimace. “A dangerous time for that,” said Bruna. “We've already been told to retreat further into the interior.”

“Stupid wars,” growled Farrell. She tore meat from the bone.

“We lost our husband last year,” Bruna murmured. She stretched down the table to take Farrell's hand. “Now we have each other.”

“And me!” piped up a little girl.

“Yes, we have the four of us.”

“And a home we broke our backs to dig out of this goddamned caliche.” The Waste was known for its rocklike layers of sediment.

“Am I to understand,” said King Kethan, “you constructed this homestead just this year? Since armistice?”

The two women nodded, their faces hard.
Everything about them is hard. They can't be older than me—­I'd guess them a few years younger. Most women here die by thirty. Most men . . . well.

The soft putter of an engine drifted overhead. Everyone at the table froze. “God, is it starting already?” asked Farrell.

“It's just another airship flying to the Tree,” whispered Bruna.

“Just another airship. How many times are they going to simply fly over?”

Kethan walked to the door. He kept his body to one side.
Habit of a soldier, with the wall to shelter him in case of gunfire. “
Caskentian flags. 'Tis coming in lower, within firing range.” He didn't need to say it; they heard and felt the increasing roar.

“Kids, to the cellar,” snapped Farrell.

“Can I take my meat?” said the little girl.

“Yes, take it all. Come on.” Bruna took the boy by the hand and guided them to a corner of the room. She lifted a hatch in the floor.

Octavia joined King Kethan. “Do you think they're looking for us?” she whispered.

“We were seen all through the pass, and there can be but few homesteads here.”

Dread sank into her stomach.
Please, Lady, no battles here. I'm so sick of ­people dying because of me.

“I will talk with them.” King Kethan walked outside.

“What stripe of fool is he?” snapped Farrell. She stood, reaching for a crutch made of bent metal. “A man can't show himself to a Caskentian airship here, not unless he wants suicide.”

He's doing it because he can get shot and revive. “
Sometimes he's more bold than clever.”

“We're looking for an unusual beast and rider.” The words crackled through a megaphone. “Have you seen anything?”

She wondered where the horse was hiding; surely it couldn't be far away.

King Kethan held his arms up as he shook his head in an exaggerated movement. “No, we have not!” he yelled back, his voice carrying surprisingly well over the low roar.

The airship was similar to the
Argus
that she and Alonzo had ridden on. The hull was recessed into the underbelly of a great silver gasbag. Where the side windows had flanked the dining room of the passenger airship, this army craft boasted gunnery from most every window. Few guns aimed dead-­on, but if the craft drew parallel to its target, the firepower was immense—­even as it exposed the full balloon of the craft. A military rig such as this would have extra aether wards in place to toughen the skin against bullets and other missiles.

Something flew from the portside window and spiraled close to the barn. Octavia pulled the door to, throwing herself on the ground. Behind her, the other women did the same. They waited. No sound, no explosion, no hiss of gas. Octavia crawled to the door and cracked it open. King Kethan was walking across the grass to investigate. The airship hovered in place, silent but for the engine and rotors.

The King glanced back toward the house. “ 'Tis a piece of silver, an old serving dish,” he yelled.

“A silver dish?” Octavia echoed to the women, confused. Their murmurs reflected the same confusion.
If Leaf were here, he probably would have gone for it, but why would an airship look for Leaf?

Bells rang along the periphery of the homestead. She thought she had imagined the sound, confused it with noise from the hovering airship, but seconds later, a bell on the dugout wall joined in.

“Oh God, the low airship must have attracted it. Kids! Out!” screamed Farrell.

“Attracted what—­? Oh Lady,” said Octavia, remembering what Kethan had said before.
A wyrm.

King Kethan ran back toward the house. Beneath the airship, dirt sprayed upward like a fountain. The craft reared as the wyrm emerged. The head—­the visible body—­was the size of train cars in sequence. Its skin was the color of dirt with a slight pink hue, like a common earthworm, and it had no discernible eyes. The wyrm lashed upward. The ship lurched away with the crackle of gunfire.

The wyrm roared. It was a strange, hollow sound. The head was a solid mass. The song—­it had no song. Octavia had no time to puzzle over that now. Dirt shivered from the ceiling as the earth rumbled. The children screamed. The airship turned, exposing the far side of the craft. Bullets whistled and thudded into the dirt walls.

Cold, hard rage flared in Octavia.
They didn't miss the wyrm. They're shooting at the house because they can.

Sprawled on the floor, she crawled to the children. They crouched to one side of the cellar hole. The little boy sobbed, a thumb wedged in his mouth. The little girl's bushy black hair was powdered in brown.

“We'll be buried alive!” cried Bruna.

Farrell crawled to them. “Don't talk like that!”

“Do wyrms always attack airships?” asked Octavia.

“Loud noises pull them in, the vibrations. The wyrm will grab the ship if it's in range,” said Farrell. Mud smeared her face. “Your grandfather . . . ?”

“I don't know.” She crawled back to the door. King Kethan might not be able to die, but she still worried for him. The gunfire directed at the house had stopped, though shots still rang at a distance.

New shafts of light pierced the dirt front wall where it had been penetrated by bullets. The ground shook, hard. The wooden supports in the ceiling groaned. Dirt fell somewhere behind Octavia. The children screamed again. The wyrm roared. Each time it shifted, it was like a small earthquake. She looked outside.

The airship stayed just out of range as if toying with the beast, gunfire smattering into the exposed head. No blood screamed. Whirls of dirt created a brown fog across the yard; she couldn't see King Kethan. Through the cloud, she heard a distinctive crackle and a blue flash. Octavia averted her eyes as the boomer exploded. The airship hovered closer, whirls of dirt choking her.

“Don't,” she whispered to the airship, to her own countrymen, even as she already knew what they were doing. She slammed the door shut and threw herself down again. The boomer smacked into the roof of the house. Another cascade of dirt fell.

“What is that?” cried Bruna.

“A boomer,” yelled Octavia. “Used at the front to terrify horses, deafen soldiers—­”

“They're luring the wyrm onto us!” said Farrell.

The airship thundered close overhead, waiting. The sod house shuddered as the boomer exploded. The women and children continued to wait.
Why isn't the wyrm attacking?
In response, another boomer sparkled as it flew past the window. The stench of aether-­infernal magic blew indoors, the stink reminiscent of hot cooking oil. More dirt shifted from above.

The airship pulled away. A gunshot, two. They sounded distant, not like an automatic from the airship. Octavia pulled herself to the door, her satchel dragging beside her. More gunshots. She cracked open the door to see a large object on the rise just beyond the furrowed field—­a mass of green and copper, metal wings flared out.

Her breath caught.
Chi.

 

C
HAPTER
16

The airship hadn't missed
the strange sight either. It circled around as more shots were fired from below.
The airship was scouting for Chi, not us. That's why they threw down silver as a lure.

The puncture in the airship's gasbag appeared as a small black hole. Octavia couldn't believe her eyes—­an airship shouldn't be that easy to shoot down, but then, Alonzo was a marksman and a trained Dagger.
He knows its vulnerabilities as few would.
In the space of several breaths, the hole widened to a rippling gap with a silver flap of skin. The ship angled hard as the nose smacked into the edge of the field with a violent eruption of dirt.

Without her headband, she clearly heard the songs of the men inside: the snaps of cracking bones, the dull thumps of concussions, and cacophony of blood and bodies, followed by the klaxons of flesh afire.

She couldn't smell it, that charring of skin and muscle, the reason she hadn't been able to eat meat until well into her teenage years, but she knew it. She knew the particular screams of a body on fire, how it lit up the brain with brilliant dazzles of pain.

Mother. Father. The neighbors, the village, the horses. Red on black, flames scraping the night sky. Mud of the field sucking down my feet, rooting me in place.

A terrible scream rang in her ears. The raw pain from her own throat told Octavia that the sound came from her.

King Kethan stood in the yard, filthy, his face carved in wrinkles of concern, and then she was past him. Deep concussive blasts knocked her off her feet. She tumbled over, sharp grass gouging her like needles. She bounded up again at a run. Her legs throbbed, the skin stretched taut with new growth, but she refused to slow.

Stop the screams. Stop the suffering.

Heat lashed against her. The gasbags flared and just as quickly expelled their contents, the flames dwindling yet still high. Something terrible shook the ground. Some small, sensible part of her brain remembered the wyrm and that she should be concerned about it, but all she knew and breathed and tasted was fire and ash.

“Octavia! Octavia!” Strong hands gripped her shoulders and spun her around.

The triumphant brasses of a marching band. Hunger, dehydration, exhaustion—­exhilaration.

“Alonzo?” she whispered.

His nutmeg skin was dark with accumulated sweat and grime. Crescents of filth underlined his eyes. Goggles sat atop his forehead. Her gloved hand hovered over his cheek, afraid to touch him, as if he wasn't real.

“You're here? Really here?”

Another violent shudder and flash of heat. Alonzo shoved her down, wrapping himself around her. He stank, but his touch, his presence, was pure Alonzo, and oh Lady, did she need him at that exact moment.

The screams within the airship went mute.

“I am sorry, Octavia, I am sorry. I had to shoot it down. I saw you in the doorway, the wyrm, the boomers, what the ship was trying to do. I had to shoot it down.”

She closed her eyes and pressed her face to his shoulder. The oiled duster was smooth against her skin. “I know.” She knew, even as she tabulated more deaths to weigh on her soul.
A ship of that make, with a full gunnery crew, held as many as forty. None escaped. None.

The fire roared.

A child cried, the sound high-­pitched and anxious. She looked back toward the dugout. It was gone, collapsed in the concussive blasts. King Kethan stooped over as he unearthed the little girl. He held her up as she screamed again.

“Oh no.” Octavia pried herself free of Alonzo. “There are two women and another babe in there.” She tore across the grass, her senses already straining to find them in the rubble. Just as when she scrutinized Mrs. Garret, she detected a glow with her mind's eye.

“Help. Medician.” Farrell's words were weak, but boomed in her ears as a summons.

“We're coming!” she screamed.

King Kethan frantically dug with a small trough. “They should be about there,” he said, pointing.

“I know.” She knew exactly where they lay. She heard the screams of broken ribs, the heavy bleed of a scalp wound, the choke of blood in the lungs. Alonzo was at her side. “There.” She pointed a few feet from where Kethan had gestured. Alonzo dug in with both hands.

Octavia took a few steps forward. “Oh, Bruna,” she whispered. Her gloves delved into the dirt and dry grass. Behind her, Farrell coughed and hacked as Alonzo unearthed her. The heaves made the woman scream in pain.
Three ribs. Internal bleed. Needs pampria.
But Octavia didn't stop digging. Kethan joined her, then Alonzo.

They found the still form of Bruna. The back of her skull was a mash of blood and hair. Sheltered in the arch of her body, the little boy bawled with quiet convulsions, unharmed but for his terror. Alonzo whisked him away. Farrell cried out.

Octavia didn't hesitate. She dug out one of the Lady's leaves, the third. Bruna's broken jaw hung askew as Octavia turned her over.

“No!” King Kethan yelled, his bony fingers prying at her arm. “You cannot—­” Panic galloped through his song.

“The leaves are only poison if they're chewed.” She met his terrified gaze.
In all we've endured these past few days, this is the first thing that has scared him, the idea of someone being poisoned the way he was.

“You are certain?” he asked, trembling.

“Yes. I know how to use them.” Seeing the certainty in her eyes, he backed off, sagging as if deflated.

She crouched beside Bruna and pressed the leaf beneath her tongue. Gently, she shut Bruna's jaw. Over her, King Kethan's breaths rattled. Bruna shivered as if tickled in her sleep. The jaw shifted into place with a loud click. The purple rings beneath her eyes sank into healthy skin the color of fresh-­baked bread crust.

“Alonzo, keep the other woman back,” Octavia said, not needing to turn around. Farrell, even in her agony, was trying to reach Bruna.

Bruna's brown eyes opened, blinking. Before she could try to speak, Octavia pried open her jaw and removed the leaf. It dissolved in her hand.

“God does have mercy,” whispered King Kethan, a slight sob in his gravelly voice.

Bruna frowned as her eyes focused on Octavia. “You . . . you need to hurry. The Tree is waiting.”

Octavia bowed her head. The Lady had sent her a message again, just as she had done with the dead woman in Tamarania and times prior. That border between life and death seemed to be the only time that the Lady could directly speak to a person. “I know.”

“You can't keep me from her! Bruna! Bruna!”

Bruna's face distorted in horror as she regained full control of her body. “Farrell? The little ones?”

“They're all out. Farrell's badly hurt, but I can tend to her. Don't—­don't tell her you died.” It seemed like a silly thing to say, but Octavia felt the need.

“No, no. Not now, anyway. Later.”

Octavia nodded, then scooted back to make room for Bruna to scramble up. Dirt showered from her clothing as she rushed to the rest of her family. Sobs and wails brought tears to Octavia's eyes.

“Octavia.” Alonzo offered a hand to help her up, but as she stood, she found his focus wasn't on her. He looked at King Kethan and pressed a fist to his chest. “You have the look of the Stout family, yet you cannot be Devin Stout.”

“I am not. You may call me Grandfather, for now.” King Kethan saluted him in turn. “And you are the Alonzo Garret of whom I have heard so much. 'Tis an honor to meet you.”

Alonzo looked at Octavia, clearly curious. “I know that my fool sister sent you to Mercia. I am consumed with both awe and dread to know what befell you in the city.”

“That story will need to wait until we're done here.” She ran her wand over both hands as she trod across the dirt ruins to where Farrell and Bruna sobbed together. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw a green blur and heard the songs of three happy bodies—­those of Leaf with the two children. The gremlin hopped and chattered and sent them into titters.

Of course Leaf is back. He must have led Alonzo and Chi in our direction. He was working to bring us together all along. I deserved that raspberry.

“Bruna, I need to heal Farrell, now.”

Bruna pulled back from her gentle embrace. Alonzo and King Kethan helped to move Farrell to the medician blanket. The circle flared to life the instant the men stepped back. The Lady was here, watching, waiting. Prodding them on like a child herding cats.

Lady, you are the grieving mother, the one who understands laments. Know that I'm thankful you're here to heal and comfort, but I'm still bitter. I'm tired. I'm tired of all these deaths that follow in my wake, this suffering.

The heat, the sense of the Lady's presence, did not waver or react.

Octavia read the needs of her patient. A hefty scoop of pampria; Bartholomew's tincture, to bind bones; heskool and bellywood bark, as a precaution. The circle dissipated the instant Octavia knew the healing was done.

“Thank you, Lady, for extending your branches,” murmured Octavia, from habit more than anything.

“Yes. Thank you, Lady,” said Farrell. She looked straight at Octavia as she spoke. Odd chills crept up Octavia's spine. King Kethan passed the metal crutch to Farrell as she scooted back. Bruna knelt beside her.

“I think we lost everything but each other,” said Bruna.

“Then we didn't do too badly,” said Farrell.

“How far to the next settlement?” asked Alonzo.

“East, maybe half a day's ride,” said Farrell. “During the war, we retreated to the far fringe of the Dallows. Most of us had the sense to stay there, even after this last armistice. We should have listened, but we wanted land of our own. I should have listened.” She looked away, her face twisting with rage. Bruna reached for her again.

Now that the crisis was past, Octavia was suddenly aware of the dwindling light and the chill against her sweat-­soaked skin. Beyond the songs of nearby bodies, the world seemed strangely quiet. Even the flames had died down to a distant crackle.
We all need to get out of here. If exposure doesn't kill us, the missing airship and the plume of smoke will bring Caskentian military at full throttle and gallop.

“The wyrm vanished in the midst of everything. What about Chi, Alonzo?” she asked. “I only saw her at a distance. You rode her all the way from Tamarania?”

“Indeed.” He glowered, arms crossing his chest. As he moved, she could see that beneath the oilskin he still wore his jockey attire from the arena. “At the conclusion of the bout, Tatiana tried to excuse your absence, but I knew you would not leave, not with us in peril. It did not take her long to confess the truth. As for the beastie, Chi would not permit me to leave the hangar bay without her. Her intention was clear.”

“Goodness. You came even further than my horse. She had the reinforcement of the Lady's branch, and she still didn't truly survive.”

“Your horse? The white mare?” asked Alonzo, brows drawn together.

A sudden, terrible thought flashed through Octavia's mind. “Did Chi eat or rest at all?” She set off for the rise where she'd seen Chi.

“No, not truly. I dismounted a few times each day, but Chi did not wish to pause for long. She seemed compelled by a greater force.”

The Lady.

Octavia forced her stiff legs to walk faster. “Chi's body is alive like any animal's. Her needs are biological, even if her extremities move as machines. She can't . . .”

They stopped at the rise.

The massive chimera had collapsed into a meditative Al Cala pose, folded forward like a small child. The wings had tucked in close to her back. Her armored head bowed, face planted to kiss the grass. Thick mud caked what was visible of her legs. Of her chaotic, powerful song, nothing remained. Chi's momentum had kept her going all those miles, but like a horse run too hard and not rubbed down afterward, the chimera stopped, and stopped completely.

A small wail escaped Alonzo's throat, a sound Octavia had never heard him make before. He rushed down to Chi and rested his hands against the slick membrane of a wing. “Can anything be done?”

He has to ask, but he knows.
Octavia stood back, fists balled at her hips. “It's not your fault, Alonzo. You wouldn't have been able to stop her from coming here. She probably died immediately after you dismounted. Her hearts, her body, everything shut down. There's no trauma. No bullets from the airship struck her. Her . . . her souls are too far gone for a leaf to work.”

As if responding to his name, Leaf fluttered to land between Octavia and Chi. He was utterly silent.

Alonzo embraced the massive chimera. “She took care of me, in truth. In the Arena, we were a team. She understood me, as you said she would. This long ride, she chirped, and she listened. I had total faith that she knew the path to you by magic or instinct far beyond my comprehension.”

“You told me once that you only had battlefield faith,” she said softly.

“What have we endured these past few weeks if not a constant battle?”

They remained still for several minutes. Alonzo leaned over Chi with his arms wide, his face turned away. Octavia placed a hand on one of Chi's tapered ears. The horned accessory was gone
,
revealing a thick ear tip flecked with white whiskers. Alonzo murmured something she couldn't quite make out. Smoke and emotion stung her eyes. She looked away, blinking. The wind shifted more and the foulness of heated aether made them both cough.

Alonzo stood upright and looked toward the source of the smoke. “I do wonder,” he said, voice hoarse, “at the presence of a Caskentian airship this deep in the Waste. I saw many of our soldiers these past few days, and Chi and I did not even follow the pass. What of armistice?” He kept one hand on Chi's shoulder.