The Unfinished World (The Armor of God Book 2) (39 page)

He didn’t like thinking about it, so he remained far away from the strangely large mound of fresh earth where they had buried the man, and sat down to find inspiration, to think about how he should address Mordecai and the others who had heard his violent threat.

“What do you think?” he asked.

“You need to be honest,” replied Elena, who stood next to Farren’s gravestone, or rather, the thick piece of wood they had used to mark it; the letters NHNE had been etched onto its surface.

You’re too far gone, now
, he heard Nandi whisper, and then laugh.

“I don’t like being bullied,” he said out loud. “It’s so much pressure. It’s not easy to pilot the Minotaur. I lost friends. I’m not okay. I’m sorry.”

Elena nodded with a smile, then disappeared.

“Who are you talking to?” came a female voice. Ezra turned around to find a girl about his age, with short brown hair down to her jaw and thin pink lips. He recognized her face from his days in Clairvert, having seen her in passing, but never crossing word. “There’s no one else here. Is there?”

Ezra got up, frightened, and looked around. He wanted to ask her if she was really there, wanted to touch her, just to make sure.

But he couldn’t; if he wanted everyone to believe that he was in control, sane, and trustworthy, he couldn’t question people’s materiality to their face.

“Who are you?”

“We haven’t really met—well, not
you
and me, just me and the big guy with the horns. I’m Autumn,” she said and offered her hand. He shook it and it was warm—a good sign, as Elena’s imaginary flesh had always felt cold to his touch. “Jena Crescent sent me here to find you. I didn’t think I’d find you
here
, though. What could you have possibly lost so close to a dead body?”

“Nothing. I just wanted to be alone.”

“Why?” she asked, and then shook her head. “No, I’m sorry, I won’t pry. Sometimes I don’t know when to shut up, but I’m learning, I promise. Jena wants you to go to her. I think your friends are coming back. The lookout saw two of your Croo—Creuh—”

“Creux? They saw Garros and Erin? Where are they? Are they here?”

“I don’t know about Garrus and Eren; I just know they saw two of your friends coming this way, from the south.”

He had already begun running back to Jena, but he froze when he heard the last word. “South? Isn’t Clairvert to the north?”

Autumn shrugged, and Ezra took off again.

He could barely breathe when he finally reached the encampment at the edge of Wiege, where the people had begun to settle. Though it was now a secondary concern, Ezra was glad that neither Autumn nor anyone else he ran past regarded him with contempt; maybe his threat hadn’t really gone past his lips.

Jena was standing, once more, surrounded by people, and Mordecai wasn’t among them. She called him with her hand, and he pushed his way through the small crowd to join her.

“Autumn told me you were looking for me?” he asked.

“Who?” asked Jena, and Ezra’s heart froze.

No. Not again.

“Oh,
Autumn
. Yeah, I sent her,” she said to his relief. “Look over there. You see? Two Creuxen just appeared from the Tunneler’s way beneath the mountain range, the one we took. At first I thought they were Flecks but they’re not. Look. They’re just standing there.”

She pointed to the distance and he followed. The massive humanoid figures that could only be Creuxen were standing still about a mile away from Wiege.

“Recognize them?”

“I do. That’s Rose Xibalba.”

ф

His back had begun to hurt an hour before, but he didn’t dare move.

Despite the obvious signs of pain that had come from Erin’s slow recovery from a beating that would’ve killed anyone else, the nurse let them have the room to themselves all day.

Garros had carefully moved her to open space for him on the mat. Her legs were still shattered, but they had been put back together by the nurse and immobilized. She wouldn’t be able to use them again for weeks, maybe months, but at least they were no longer twisted to awkward angles, or oozing blood and other liquids.

He had positioned himself beneath her, and she now slept using his chest as a pillow, put to sleep by the strong pounding of his heart. Every now and then she’d suddenly jerk awake from constant nightmares she had called “terrifyingly vivid.”

As she described them, time and time again she had dreamt of being trapped inside Phoenix’s Apse, unable to move, and waiting for death. In her dreams, Milos Ravana didn’t remove the boulder to save her life; she’d die hearing Phoenix Atlas’ voice serenade her to the long sleep.

But not in their reality, and for that he’d always be thankful to Davenport and Milos Ravana.

“It’s all over, isn’t it?” she asked when he was beginning to fall asleep.

“I thought you were asleep,” he said. “What’s over?”

“Both our Creux are gone. Phoenix, Ares—they’re gone.”

“I know, babe,” he said. “But they went down fighting, didn’t they?”

“Aren’t you afraid?”

“Afraid of what?”

“What are we going to do now? We’re no longer pilots; we can’t fight the Laani, much less Lys. We’re just like everyone else now. Civilians. Casualties. How are we supposed to fight without our weapons? What are we going to do?”

“We’re going to do what everyone else does—what we would have done if our Creux had never been found. We’re going to live, have a kid, grow old and then, one day, many years from now, we’re going to die together knowing that the world still exists thanks to us. I couldn’t wish for a happier ending.”

She didn’t say anything.

“Doesn’t that make you a little happy? We fought for years, then played an important part, saved hundreds of lives, and now, finally, we get some rest. Together.”

Still, she didn’t say anything. The message, her disagreement, was clear.

“Davenport, or Blanchard or Crescent, they can take us back to the oasis, maybe one day back to Roue. I’m okay with all of that. I’m really tired, Erin.”

“Phoenix Atlas is all that I know, though,” she said, finally crying. He knew what she had gone through, and understood the fallout of her trauma, but it was still difficult to hear her lose all hope; her tears were like acid to him. “Although . . . I could pilot Lazarus, remember?”

“What? How can you say that?”

“I don’t know.”

“Lazarus is Lys’ Creux, the one who tried to kill you.”

“Yeah. I’m sorry,” she said, and leaned down on his chest again.

“Promise me you won’t go anywhere near Lazarus.”

“I promise,” she said, but her eyes were looking away from him, at the door of the office leading back to the hallway. “Where’s Akiva? Have you heard from him?”

“He was trying the comms,” replied Garros. “He’s been trying to reach Zenith. I’m not sure if he’s had any luck.”

“I hope he does,” she said before going back to sleep.

He took that time to get some sleep himself; it was his turn to take on the nightmares.

Knocking on the door bled into his dreams, taking the shape of Milos Ravana’s fist slamming against its own chest in a steady beat. He had been inside Ares, hearing the Creux’s voice, when he saw it.

When it all disappeared, and he realized he was still in William Heath’s office, sleeping next to his weakened wife, the realization was bittersweet. She was awake, and from the sad weight of her eyelids he could tell that she had been awake for a while. He wondered if he had let her sleep at all—he was prone to terrible snoring.

“Come in,” Garros yelled, and the door opened to reveal Davenport at the other side. “What’s going on?”

“I was in the comms room,” he said. His skin looked pale, and there were tiny beads of sweat on his forehead and nose, his hair sticking to the sides of his face. He looked sick. “I managed to contact Roue. I talked to Dr. Mizrahi.”

Erin bolted up and then winced in pain. “And?”

“I don’t know,” he said. “How are you feeling?”

“Really tired.”

“I’m sorry,” said Garros.

“No, I mean—I’m just tired. You’re right. I want to go home, Garros,” said his wife. “We’ve been gone too long and we’re not going to help anyone here. You’re right. I’d rather help however I can, live as much as I can, back there. With you. I’m done.”

“We’ll go home,” said Akiva. “Very soon.”

Garros smiled at Erin, who smiled back at him—both she and Akiva had just said the words he’d been wanting to hear since the battle. Their time as soldiers, warriors, guardians, was done—now they would finally get some much needed, much deserved rest.

Garros left his wife to get some sleep, wrapped in a cocoon of blankets and pillows, cared for by the nurse. Akiva said he knew of a way to go back home, so if that was the next course of action, then there was one last thing he had to do: learn as much as he could from Lys so he could convey the information back to Roue, to Jed and the remaining pilots, either through the communications they had restored in the caves, or in person.

Hopefully the latter.

The armored soldier who had taken Farren’s place as acting captain made a small attempt at stopping Garros from walking through the veiled door and into Lys’ sanctum. All Garros had to do was to say: “It’s the last time I’ll go there, I swear.”

The man stepped aside and let him in.

Garros felt real fear in his chest, as he stepped in. He was prepared to face Lys, and had seen its weapons—he knew how close he’d have to get for his tentacles to be a danger.

Finally the dark tunnel ended and opened up to the enormous room with the circular pit, the blue eye of the Asili. At the far end, behind a chasm, stood the real monster.

Alice’s body had all but fallen apart in the stone giant’s grasp, and the tentacles he had used to kill Farren and William were still hanging long and loose down into the darkness, twitching as though something heavy was hanging from their ends.

“I’m not here to hurt you,” Garros said, his voice making rounds along the chamber’s walls.

Lys’ answer was silence. And then: “How could you ever?”

Garros took a step closer to Lys, eyes on the tentacles, ready to move back if they showed any signs of threatening movement. “I wouldn’t. I’m just here to talk. I want to know what I can about you.”

“So you can hurt me later?”

“Yes,” said Garros.

“Who could fathom the cruel identity of, he, she, whomever, the god that failed? Is it a he, a man fallen from grace, godly once, crafted by lavish gardens . . ,” whispered Lys calmly before punctuating with a minor chuckle.

What this monster had just uttered was an ancient poem written by an author whose identity was never discovered. Though it was grim, it was often considered beautiful by the studious of literature; Lys’ monotone reading made it appear less like art and more like a threat.

“How do you know those words?”

“Because you do,” said Lys. “Because your people wrote them, learned them, died knowing them, and then returned to me. Nothing is lost when you and yours turn into my flesh. Every last piece of knowledge and feeling you’ve known or felt in the last centuries now lives inside me.”

Garros frowned, took a step back.

Lys began to speak again, but this time in dead languages he could only recognize by sound but not by meaning. He switched languages three times effortlessly, and then, he returned to the language Garros knew.

“I’ve traveled, fallen, dissolved, and been reborn more times than I care to count. Each time I’ve grown in every way—I’ve grown smarter, I’ve grown larger and stronger, I’ve grown kinder.”

Garros took a step closer, close enough to recognize ashen versions of Alice’s eyes staring at him, following his every movement.

“Not once,” Lys growled. “Had I grown
angrier
.”

Garros stopped.

“I’ve traveled and grew and then, there was you. I took you in, and you tasted bitter in my mouth. You tasted of death. You gave me the will to destroy, and I cannot be stopped. The awakening of my brother marked the time of my return to flesh, and I know you believe he can fight me. He can’t. None of you can. There is no force on this world except my own who can stop me. He knows this now. He’s coming.”

“Your brother—you mean Milos Ravana?” asked Garros.

“I will crush you. I will not even clean your remains from my feet, and your extinction will only be the beginning. I will make sure this universe quickly forgets your kind ever existed. Not one trace of your memory, of anything you’ve done, accomplished, or built, will remain,” Lys said, and it was like all the light, all the warmth, had been sucked from the city. “You will be gone, and the universe will not miss you.”

Their impending doom had never felt more real.

Enraged, Garros charged at Lys and stretched his arms, grabbing Alice by the hips. He wouldn’t let him use her lips to speak one more word of such shameless evil.