Chapter 32 #2
Whatever discussion was happening with Ciona seems to end, because I see two of the mothers break away from the group, and they take all eight fiend children with them. I watch them walk to the guards’ building and disappear inside.
Piper nods to the other guards. “We’re ready.”
The uniformed men shove open the burg’s gate, and we pass beneath the swinging Plagued sign as it scrapes against the wood.
We file in, only to come up to another wall.
It’s shorter than the one that surrounds the burg and is metal instead of wood.
It looks like it was made in a rush too.
The slabs of the metal, now charred and galling, have been stabbed into the split ground, and from it, I can feel heat radiating through.
Sweat lathers at my face, plastering my hair to my forehead, and I recognize instantly which Plague is inside, because Lord Havlon can actually combat this one.
Fire.
Hamelyn has had Fire Plague a few times over the years, and it was horrific, even with our Govern stopping it rather quickly.
Unlike a normal fire, it cannot be doused by water or smothered out.
These flames keep burning even after there’s nothing to feed on.
I’ve seen people burned alive in seconds, the scent of their seared flesh glued into memory, and now I just stupidly volunteered to go near it.
But one look over my shoulder, and I see guards closing the gate, barring us in. Too late to change my mind now.
With sweat darkening his tunic, Frid moves forward and strong-arms a piece of metal. He bends it back as easily as one folds a piece of paper and then lifts a hand in a flourish. “After you.”
Ciona goes inside with a swish of her skirt, and then the rest of us follow.
As soon as I’m past the metal wall and on the other side, my eyes widen at the sight.
Whatever used to be in this burg has long since burned down, reduced to charred stones that look like lumps of coal, and a singed ground marred with ash.
But the Fire has been contained just like they said, surrounded by a moat of Poisoned water.
The moat is straight ahead, its water the same inky black that Hamelyn’s river turned. At the center of the moat, Fire burns on a square of land, spouting endless streams of unnatural red—the same color as the polluted sky.
It spits and blazes upon the parched sand, the red so bright it’s hard to look at. The flames themselves aren’t high, only coming to about my chest height, but they’re so dense I can’t see through them.
The Fire has nothing to feed on anymore, no more buildings or trees or whatever it was that used to stand there, but it continues to burn anyway, throwing off endless, intense heat like the air itself is fevered.
My gaze moves away from the trapped Fire and the Poisoned moat, trailing over the dried ground and the buildings left like charcoal rubble.
A hum is coming from somewhere, and farther away, I can see mounded-up sand and a strange metal building beyond.
I think the droning noise may be coming from that.
My apprehension grows.
Sweat drips down my neck as Ciona twists her blond hair up in her veillet, securing it as she fans her face. She pulls out a small book from her skirt pocket and flicks through the pages of scrawled notes.
“I would like to do a demonstration to put your minds at ease,” she announces, before glancing again at her book. “If I could please have Nicklaus come forward?”
Fiends turn to look, and then a man lifts his hand with visible apprehension. “That’s me.”
His horns are thick and brown, his hair braided down between them and tied off at his shoulders. I recognize him from our Hamelyn group, though he seems the quiet type who keeps to himself.
“If I’ve scented you correctly, then your blood should affect the Drought,” Ciona says, and I’m instantly reminded of how she walked up and down our table in the dining room when we first arrived. Is that when she did it? She scented us while we sat there?
She looks at him expectantly. “If I may?”
Nicklaus swallows, the lump in his throat bobbing, but he steps forward until he stands before her. “What do I need to do?”
She pulls out a knife from her pocket, and he blanches. “Not to worry,” she trills, and then quick as a flick, she slices down her own arm in one short, deep cut.
Several people shift around me, all of us watching her blood gather on her pale skin.
“Observe,” she says brightly, before crouching down to the ground and tipping her arm. Her blood drips in bright red spots upon the cracked dirt. I stand on my tiptoes to get a better view, watching it fall and glob up.
“As we know, our Drought Plague is not merely the lack of rain. It is the cursed barrier that seems to stretch along the ground itself. You can see here that my blood puddles over it, the ground unable to soak it in, just as it won’t soak in water—Fridrich?”
Frid steps forward and tugs the waterskin hanging from his belt. He gnaws off the cork and then tips it over, letting a splash fall out. The thirsty ground should sop it up, but instead, the water condenses in a bubble like a bead of oil, not a single drop soaking in, just like her blood.
“Now, if I’m correct . . .” Ciona looks at Nicklaus, and Frid hands her a clean dagger. “May I?”
Nicklaus hesitates but then scrunches up his sleeve and holds out his arm.
She quickly slices into it and his face pales, but he doesn’t complain.
It seems as if all of us move closer, everyone watching raptly as he crouches with Ciona.
As soon as there’s a gathering of his blood, she tips his arm and we watch it fall to the ground . . . and instantly soak in.
A couple people gasp, others murmur, and I stare in shock and fascination as his blood absorbs into the sand, leaving only a red stain behind.
Ciona beams as she straightens up to her feet, and she shares a look with Frid. “I was right,” she exclaims, face stretched in a smile. “By scenting alone, without even taking samples.”
Frid whistles. “Well done.”
“Didn’t doubt you for a second,” Garren tells her as he takes both blades and cleans them, dousing them with his waterskin.
There’s a curious black glow coming from his hand as he wipes over the metal, and then I remember—he’s the Water Weaver.
I guess that means he can do more than just clean out a Poisoned river.
Ciona turns to Piper, excitement lighting up her face. “I traced him correctly.”
Piper tips his head, clearly proud. “You did.”
Still smiling, she pulls out her little book again before looking at us. “Now, let’s sort the rest of you, shall we?”