Chapter 9
Chapter 9
Sometimes Casnia wanders. It’s just something she does. She never gets farther than the fields, though. And it only takes a few people to find her.
Half of Emgarden floods the streets.
Trying to keep rising panic down, I ask, “When?”
Amlynn shakes her head. “Gone at least an hour. Salki said she was throwing a fit at first sun, so she went on a walk to give her space. When she got back, Casnia was gone.”
“In the mists?” Casnia never ventures out in the mists.
Amlynn frowns. “Keep your eye out. It won’t go well for Salki to lose another so soon.”
And it won’t go well for Casnia to get lost in the unforgiving dust.
Abandoning my bag, I run for Salki’s home, passing several people calling Casnia’s name. I know the house will have been searched, but I let myself in. Salki isn’t home. The single-room house isn’t much bigger than mine, but I search it anyway, looking for any clues. With so many people about, Casnia might have gotten frightened and hid. She’s done it before.
I find only more of her drawings, as well as her art supplies. She didn’t take them with her.
“Piss and Ruin,” I mutter under my breath, hurrying back outside. The last time Casnia ran was when Ramdinee died. I can’t fathom why she’d wander off now. I take the ladder up to Salki’s roof and shield my eyes from the sun, scanning the town. For a moment I’m sure I’ve spotted Casnia, but it’s only Balfid’s wife, who also has dark hair. Hurrying down, I jog through the streets, calling Casnia’s name, pausing at windows to see if she let herself into another home or tucked herself away in a shed. Casnia’s either exploring or settling into a quiet, safe spot.
Safe spot.Turning on my heel, I dash back to my own house. Throw open the door, but Casnia isn’t here. She wouldn’t fit in the tiny cupboards, and though there’s no lump on my bed, I throw back the covers anyway. I even look beneath the panel in the floor, though it’s too small to hold anyone larger than a baby. Nothing.
Back outside, up my ladder, onto my roof. “Cas!” I shout, looking out. Folk mill outside the town limits, searching the dry, rusty expanse. Others retrace their steps. They’ll have already combed through the alehouse. I try to get a better vantage point by standing on my toes. Determine where Casnia would have gone in the mist. But I can’t even see Salki’s house from here.
Frustrated, I curl my hands into fists, nails digging into my palms as I turn and scan.
In the distance, I see the tower.
And though the sun burns and the fog is hours away, I slide down the shingles, jump to the road, and take off for Moseus’s home, sun be damned.
The somber first floor greets me without a sound. Moseus’s closed door indicates he’s likely sleeping or meditating. Taking the stairs two at a time, I huff up to the second floor, seize the ladder, and throw it out the window. Take up my rope and hurry down, out, and around the tower. Climb. My steps are a little surer this time, the stone a bit dryer, and I scale two and a half stories before looping my rope around the protrusion. I climb atop it, then a little higher. I have to jump four times before I can hook my hands over the top of the tower and pull myself up. Years of dust, sticky from years of fog, cling to the stone and to me. I stand and shield my eyes.
I can see all of Emgarden from here. It looks so small. There’s an enormous cluster of emilies to the north, in between jutting rock formations that block my view. The amaranthine wall is a thin, straight ribbon of pink disappearing into either horizon. Dry earth in shades of red and brown extends for kilometers on kilometers on kilometers, interrupted only by the occasional rock formation, which would provide a shady sanctuary to hide in, but I don’t think Casnia could have gotten that far already. She’s slow.
I search for anything moving farther from Emgarden. I see something in the direction of the wall, but is that a tree, a searcher, or Casnia?
It’s somewhere to start.
As I climb down, arms shaking with the effort, my sight blanks out for just a moment, and suddenly I’m sitting on the rim of the protrusion, my feet dangling down, wind catching my hair. I gasp, and it’s gone. Just me pressed up against the tower.
Lowering myself to the protrusion, I stare out at it. What? I want to scream. Do you want me to sit out there? Is that a sign for something?
It seems stupid. I almost climb down. Then, with a grunt, I tighten the rope around my waist and sidestep to the end of the protrusion, cautious, careful. Sit the way I’d just seen. Inspect the view.
But there’s nothing new to see, and there’s no breeze. Nothing. Frustrated, I pick my way back down, forcing myself to move slowly so I don’t plummet to my death.
When I push open the door to drop off the ladder, Moseus waits inside. Wait—no. That’s Heartwood. The breadth of his jaw and shoulders give him away, but he’s wearing a black cloak similar to Moseus’s robe.
“Did you find something?” he asks.
“Nothing,” I spit, ripping the rope from my body and tossing it to the ground. “I have to go. Casnia is missing.”
I’m ready for a discourse about coming during the sun, but instead he asks, “Someone from Emgarden?”
I pause at the doors. “Yes. She’s ... she’s different. Her mind doesn’t work the way ours does. She can’t make it on her own. I climbed up there to see if I could spot her.”
He glances toward the open door. “That explains the town’s activity.”
I step out.
“What does she look like?”
Hand on the door handle, I pause. Study him. There’s no malice or treachery in his countenance. He’s fairly well masked, but a line of concern mars his forehead, and that sadness endures in his eyes. I realize, too, that he’s hale again, standing straight, no shadows to his face. Odd.
“I thought you two didn’t want to be seen,” I counter, though we can use all the help we can get.
He considers this. “I will be discreet.” Then, after a beat, “Do not tell Moseus.”
My lungs push out a heavy, grateful breath. “She’s short. Shorter than me, and more heavy-set. Round face, short black hair.”
“Like yours?”
“Shorter. If ... if you find her, bring her to the village. Or even back to the tower, just somewhere safe. If the mist settles ... my house is just inside the northwest perimeter.”
“I know it.”
I pause at that, but of course he does, if Moseus knew where to find me. I nod to him once and hurry outside. Heartwood follows. He hesitates as I start east, before pulling the hood of his cloak over his telltale white hair and heading around the tower to search west.
I should have brought water with me, but I didn’t. I’ll deal. I pace myself, knowing I’ll be no use to anyone if I burn out early and can’t search anymore. It’s critical we find Casnia before the turn of the fog, because we’ll have to stop searching once it falls. It’s one thing to navigate Emgarden in the mist; it’s another to find your way out in the wilds, with no clear markers to guide you.
I’m able to jog for nearly half an hour before a stitch in my side and fire in my throat force me to slow. One minute to catch my breath, then I jam a knuckle into the pain under my rib and keep moving. “Casnia!” I call between pants. Far off, I hear an echo of the name. It sounds like Frantess, but I can’t be sure. I have nothing on me to tell the time, but I imagine we’re at mid sun, halfway through the light. Halfway to the mists.
Sweat drips from my temples, underarms, and back. I cup swelling hands around my mouth.
“Cas! Cas!”
The only response I get is shuddering of the earth under my feet. A few pebbles dance, then settle, leaving the red-rock world around me eerily quiet. I trudge on. A dry weed catches my foot, making me stumble. I skid down to one knee, hitting a lone emily, so the damage isn’t too bad. Picking myself up, I turn slowly, scanning, searching for movement.
“Cas!”
A desert wren shoots off from a copse of wickwood trees. I head toward that, closer still to the amaranthine wall. Hope dies when I see nothing between the skinny, twisted trunks.
Wiping sweat from my eyes, I scream as loud as I can: “Cas!”
And hear, almost immediately, another cry: “Cas!”
Salki.
The voice echoes south of me. Pushing against the stitch, I run in that direction, over a swell in the dry earth, avoiding a snake hole. Minutes later I see movement in the distance, and as I close in, I see two women wrestling. The light-haired one is Salki, the dark-haired one ... Casnia.
Thank the gods.I increase my speed, spying Maglon running out from the direction of Emgarden. I’m breathless when I arrive.
Casnia struggles against Salki’s grip. She has never fought Salki, especially not physically. Salki cries, “Cas, stop! Please!” Tears stream from her eyes.
Strategically collapsing to my knees in front of Casnia, I put my hands on her shoulders. Her eyes meet mine. My lungs desperately suck in air. I shake my head.
“But!” Casnia cries, her tears matching Salki’s. “Empty, empty!”
“Cas, please,” Salki begs, and when Casnia tires, the older woman gathers her into her arms and holds her close. “It’s not safe. Don’t leave! You can’t leave!” She sobs into Casnia’s shoulder, and my heart cracks at the sight. Maglon reaches us, his tunic drenched. He stalls, unsure what to do.
“It’s okay,” I rasp, patting Casnia’s back. “She’s okay.”
Maglon says, “I can carry her back.”
“Empty,” Casnia sobs, barely intelligible. “Empty, empty.”
Tears leave uneven trails on her dust-strewn face, but she allows Salki to pull her to her feet and says nothing more when Maglon lifts her onto his back. We make the long walk back to Emgarden together.
Once Casnia and Salki are settled, I retreat to my house for a long drink, a quick scrub, and a change of clothes. I grab some jerky to take with me before retrieving my bag of scraps and tossing it in the shed.
The mist has descended by the time I reach the tower. Inside, I search for Heartwood, but he’s not there, so I return to the doors to wait, chewing hard enough to make my jaw hurt.
About fifteen minutes later, I see him.
“Did you—” he begins, out of breath.
“We found her,” I say over him, and a weariness settles into my bones. “She’s okay. Thank you for helping us.”
Heartwood’s vivid eyes shift back and forth as they study my face. He stops two paces from me, like he’s tethered to something and physically can move no closer. We stand there, an unnameable awkwardness between us, and I feel oddly exposed. I check my sash and belt to ensure I’m not. Several seconds pass before I thank him again and turn inside. Pick up the ladder and drag it with me, forcing my eyes forward.
On the third floor, I pick out larger structural pieces and start guessing at where they fit. The pattern of joists in the foundation helps me. The larger beams would be much easier to maneuver with another person, and I consider asking Heartwood, but stubbornness keeps me going, and with some shouldering, I get things where they need to go, securing them loosely, in case I’m wrong and need to pull them apart again. After that, I climb down to Machine Two, shift it away from the wall, and work on the pieces in the back, taking a few things apart, wondering at the wheel near the power switch, and measuring parts to determine the feed rate of a spindle.
I still grip the ratchet as I lean my head against the cool door behind the machine. I don’t recall closing my eyes, but mind and body give out all at once, and I’m soon fast asleep.
I wake to a sunlit room and an awful taste in my mouth, a crick in my neck, and a numb backside. Carefully I sit up, hissing as my body protests. Chill bumps cover my skin. The stone has zapped every trace of warmth from my body. Arching, my back pops twice. I hold my breath.
That’s when I hear their voices. Moseus and Heartwood, on the first floor. Pulling myself up, I move toward the stairs, quiet on my feet. I realize Moseus, at least, does not know I’m here.
“—dangerous to involve yourself.” Moseus’s voice dips so low I can barely discern his words.
“I know,” Heartwood replies.
“We cannot repeat mistakes. No matter the reason.”
A long pause, and then, quiet as the mist, “I know.”
They move away from the stairs, and I can no longer hear them. I pull away, back toward Machine Two. Repeat mistakes. What mistakes? And the involvement—did he mean with Casnia’s search, or something else? My skin pebbles anew, sending a shiver across my shoulders and down my spine.
I want to ask. I’ve never shied from confrontation. And yet not knowing how either tower keeper will react to my eavesdropping concerns me. Emgarden needs the scrap metal. I’m not ready to leave these machines. Moseus made it sound like there was no one else who could help, and while I could lean on that ... I determine it would be better to play it safe.
Still, it’s not my fault they didn’t keep tabs on me, so I resume my work on Machine Two as though nothing happened.
It’s not until I’ve finished my calculations that I realize they’d been speaking in another tongue, and yet somehow, I understood every word.