Chapter 11
Sleet batters my hood as we journey through Bothaim’s outer city, following a somewhat private path I made myself familiar with in the daes before Rekk arrived.
This city isn’t like anything I’ve visited before. Not linear, but a scribbled labyrinth bored into the tan-colored stone. Like Bulder grabbed a handful of different-sized tree trunks and dragged them through the ground before it set in place.
Some paths are wide, like the Ditch back in Gore, others are more like this one; windowless alleys that cut from one main thoroughfare to another, so tight Utris is forced to shuffle sideways so his shoulders don’t get stuck.
I pause to peer back down the thin cleft, flipping my hood so I can feel the sleet on my skin. “Everything okay?”
“You know,” Utris grits out, edging forward, “he didn’t look that big, but I’ve grown thankful so much of him was left on the floor back at the Velvet Snog.”
I would bow, but I can hardly take the credit.
A lark darts past me so unnaturally fast I trace its path, another closely following.
Another.
Another.
I frown at the distant roar of a Moltenmaw, the cold heaviness within me shifting, perching high. “Stay close,” I mutter, flipping my hood forward again.
Utris grunts as I sidle around a bend close to the alley’s exit, pausing to peer onto a main street beyond—tall walls littered with window holes, rusty chains threaded from side to side, heavy with fruit and vegetable vines.
The street streams with flitting parchment larks and a hurried flood of nulls all moving in the same direction. Toward the Citadel.
Some clutch unfolded parchment larks, others hold their younglings close—on hips or backs or pressed chest to chest. Most carry bags stuffed with belongings.
Though it’s a quiet rush with many cutting glances around the rushing crowd as they jostle to keep their loved ones gathered, fear bleeds from wide eyes and slack faces.
“It’s gotten worse,” Utris murmurs from behind me.
“What do you mean?”
“On my way back to the Velvet Snog, I noticed a few folk hurrying around. Lots more larks than usual. Whatever the news is, it’s spreading fast.”
Cold dread digs its claws in.
I snatch a lark from the air, the poor thing wrestling, slitting me with paper cuts right up until the moment I flatten it on my palm. “Sorry, little guy,” I murmur, skimming over the script. “Desperate times …”
Sister, horrible news.
Multiple moonfalls have been foreseen, including some directly above Bothaim. Parts of the city may be left in ruins.
Rhikoth’s brother (who was scribing for a trial this dae) believes there are new runes on the arches that somehow protect the Citadel from moonfalls. Should this rumor be true, I’m certain the Tri-Council will open the gates to a number of city folk. We’ll want to be some of the first in line.
Given Grandpah was a blue bead, I’m hoping they’ll let us and the girls through since they’re not yet clipped or beaded. Same for your unborn.
I was told to keep this information quiet, but I can’t bear the thought of losing you all.
Please come.
G. x
My heart plummets, gaze shooting skyward to the many moons above. Mostly Moltenmaws, but also a few Moonplumes and Sabersythes. Ode to a great battle that took place here many phases ago.
I sigh, pinching the lark back into shape, seeing no reason to keep the secret since nobody else seems to be. “There’s a moonfall coming. Several, actually.”
“What?”
“The king informed me earlier. It’s over fifteen cycles away, but not everyone’s privy to that information.”
Clearly.
“Creators …”
I release the lark, setting it back on its path. “Apparently there are new runes on the arches that protect against them.”
Hard to believe. If the Tri-Council had derived that sort of knowledge from the Book of Voyd, surely it would’ve been passed on. Unless they’re more bent than a weeping wisp branch.
I lean forward, looking down the street toward said arches.
They bulge from the lofty white wall that surrounds the city’s center, caging hundreds of huge towers that look like clustered dragon’s teeth pointing skyward.
A thunder of vibrant Moltenmaws churn above, white-armored guards perched between their wings, their attention pinned to the streets surrounding the Citadel.
“Probably why so many folk are headed in that direction.”
“But there’s not enough space beneath them to fit the city’s population. Not even close.”
“No. And it won’t just be Bothaim’s residents rushing for the gates should this news flutter beyond the city.”
Which it will.
The idea of being stuck in the grasp of that giant pale shackle of a wall until the atmosphere settles again makes my skin crawl, given only Tri-Council members are bestowed the gift of being able to hear the Creators beyond the gates.
Precautions since the war that put so many moons in the sky above.
Fear and all that.
“Let’s keep moving. The sooner we discard the meat on your back, the sooner you’re free to find somewhere safe to bunker down.”
“And you? What will you do?”
My lips thin, the breath of an almost-kiss still making my temple tingle. All the while, my Other’s memory pokes at me. Like it sloshed back to the surface and settled on the shore of my icy lake, ready to slice the soles of my feet every time I dip down there to discard something.
“I’m still working that out,” I mumble, then cut across the street, dodging frantic folk and larks zipping through the air. Knowing what I’m not doing.
Hiding in a cute, wholesome, wonky little home while Kaan Vaegor worries about everyone else in this Creators-damn world but himself.
He told me to pinch the return fold if I need him. Good, because I need him not to die.