Chapter 29
Chapter 29
The dust from the impact has cleared by the time Arthen and I return, leaving us with about two hours to find Moseus and stop him. The people of Emgarden have forgotten their pasts, but they aren’t stupid. In addition to having lamps and lanterns to pierce the mist, they’ve armed themselves with shovels, hoes, knives, and other tools, many of which, ironically, Moseus supplied the metal for. While the Ancients—us—had been trained in knife work, archery, and the like, none of us are soldiers. We never realized we’d need to be. To think how much more prepared we might have been, had Ruin not reached out its claws with its last free breath before the gods locked it in a prison kilometers away. One I’ve never had the opportunity to behold, but one the dwindled demon managed to escape.
I take my hammer and a wrench from my tool bag and hand them to Arthen. Pull his knife from my pocket and squeeze the hilt. “They look very similar,” I explain to everyone as we near, adding to the tale Salki has already shared in my absence, gleaned from my pages of notes. “Do not hurt Heartwood. He’s our ally.” I detail the differences between the two gods, which seem so obvious to me now. “Do not hurt Heartwood,” I repeat, though only those closest to me hear it. If I haven’t hurt him already, I think, and my blood runs cold. I should have taken him with me. I’d been firm that Heartwood not leave me alone with Moseus. I hadn’t considered that I shouldn’t leave Moseus alone with him.
The projectile blew a great hole in the ground at the base of the tower, some seven meters across and, at its deepest, three meters down. Several of the farmers hurry forward to move away stone, giving the rippling void a wide berth. I hang back, sitting on my haunches, gathering my strength. Offering a silent thanks when Salki brings me a grain bar and water, with a whisper to stay calm. She’s right, but moving the stones is slow work, and we’ve so little time. She and the others marvel at the sky’s changing colors as the sun nears the mountain-edged horizon, looking larger and darker. It makes the amaranthine wall—Cas’raneah’s wall—glow. Beyond the wall, the heavens adopt a shade of periwinkle that no one else has ever seen. Or can remember seeing, at least.
“Pell,” Salki whispers.
I look up to see that the farmers have uncovered a hole, roughly two-thirds of a meter in diameter, blasted into the tower. “Let me go first.” I run to it, careful not to fall into the sandy gap in the earth where my cannon’s projectile sits half-buried. Accepting a lantern from Frantess, I peer inside, listen, then wriggle through.
This is not my tower.
It is, but the cause of this darkness is more than the setting of the sun, more than the absence of first-floor windows. It’s deep and thick like at the bottom of a well, tangible as the high mist. Across the way, Moseus’s door hangs open. I’ve blown a hole right beside Machine One, but I needn’t worry about damage. Moseus has already seen to that. My hard work lies, for the second time, strewn across the floor. I wonder if he tore into it before or after sucking the tower’s entrance into a pit of nonbeing. Before, I hope. If he had enough strength to do this much damage after exerting his limited magic, then we’re in more trouble than I feared.
And yet, I’m glad. We can’t utilize the machine anyway. Not before nightfall. Waste your strength, you corrupted putrescence. I’m coming for you.
I squeeze my hands into fists to hide their trembling.
Maglon crawls through behind me, grunting as he struggles to fit through the hole. Barely above a whisper, I warn, “Be quiet. Bring in only a few, and leave the others outside. Leave Arthen. He’s tired.” I don’t think he’ll fit through the hole, besides.
Amlynn comes in next, followed by Frantess, Gethnen, and Balfid. Salki hovers nearby; Maglon puts out his hand to stay her, but I motion him aside and squat down, taking my little framed lantern from her, then grasping her hand to pull her through. To Gethnen, I whisper, “Stay at the bottom of the stairs. Send in others if we call for help.”
He nods. I give back my framed lantern to Salki and approach the stairs, shielding Frantess’s lantern with my hand. It seems impossibly bright in the gloom, but my eyes are not what they used to be. I listen, hearing only my own heartbeat and the hushed, quick breaths of the brave souls with me.
I gesture them forward, shielding the lantern so closely that I burn my hand as we ascend the stairs. As I peek over the second floor, I see my reflection in Machine Two’s discarded beryllium copper shielding. I quickly peer around the rest of the floor—empty. Despite the windows, it has the same thick shadow as the first floor, like the ghost of death has chosen this tower in which to lay his head.
Passing the lantern back to Amlynn, I remove my shoes and tiptoe to Heartwood’s room, pressing my ear to the door before pushing it open on its oiled hinges. The empty room mocks me, its window warning of every minute lost. Stepping away, I squint at the lift. I’m not positive, but I think it’s raised. Moseus must be in the tower above us.
Amlynn bites down on a squeak as Maglon brushes by her. I pass them and move to my room. The open door reveals the few belongings I left here. I motion Amlynn toward the ladder. She hesitates, so Balfid takes the lantern and, removing his shoes as well, slinks toward me, the light glinting off the whites of his eyes.
Light in hand, I climb, wincing when the fourth rung creaks under my weight. I’ve never tried to be quiet in this place, so I never noted its sounds. Still, I peer into the third floor, greeted by the same black mist. It’s loath to dissipate, even when I hold my lamp high.
“Heartwood?” I whisper, searching.
Machine Three glimmers in response. If Moseus damaged it as well, I can’t make it out from where I am, and I’m too frightened to step off the ladder.
Returning to the second floor, I gather the others around me. “Balfid, stay at the stairs. Be ready to relay a distress signal to Gethnen if we need it.” To the others, I quickly explain the lift and how it works. “It can take two at a time. I’ll go first. Salki, come with me.”
“I can come,” Maglon offers. I deeply appreciate his bravery, but I need Salki. “Come with Amlynn right after,” I tell him.
He nods. Salki shivers, so I take her hand, squeezing it tightly to reassure both of us. I approach the lift, the drum of my heart beating louder with each step. I’ll die either way, I tell myself, and it’s somehow comforting. I just have to save as many as I can before I do.
It’s a risk, but I can’t get to the fourth and fifth floors without the lift. I built it that way on purpose. So I call back the lift, knowing the motion and sound will alert Moseus. I lift Arthen’s knife as I step in, bending my knees, ready to spring. Salki, ever the good student, pulls the cord to direct the lift upward.
It moves too fast. My stomach flips inside out and lodges in my throat. The door opens onto Machine Four—
Intact. Dark. Empty, unless Moseus is hiding.
Swallowing, I direct Salki into the shadows, then wait and scan until the lift returns with Amlynn and Maglon. I snuff out my lantern. Blink a few times before slinking forward, skirting the walls, searching, listening. I walk under Machine Four, peering into its heart as though Moseus might be embedded within it, ready to drop on me like a spider. I reach the other side, pressing the knife into the darkened corners. No Moseus.
I curse deep in my throat and look up. Fifth floor, then.
I come around the machine. Amlynn holds the extinguished lantern. Maglon brandishes a long cooking knife in one hand and a pickaxe in the other. I gesture toward the tilted body of Machine Four and wait until I know he’s seen me. He murmurs something to Amlynn, perhaps telling her to be ready to pass along a distress call.
Throat tight and fingers slick, I climb Machine Four. I can’t see my handholds, but I’ve worked on the thing enough—I built it—that I find my way in the dark easily. It will be harder for the others. Hopefully they’re watching closely.
The silver curtain around Machine Five emits a soft, unbroken light. Good, it’s intact. I crouch, knife ready, listening. Someone climbs onto the base of Machine Four. I don’t pull my eyes away from the liquid mirror in front of me.
I climb off and creep into the third tier of the tower. Holding my breath, I move around the silver cascade, keeping my back to the wall. There’s little wiggle room around Machine Five, so it’s unlikely that Moseus has crouched back here, unless he’s run out of places to hide and is licking his—
White hair on the floor, strewn with braids.
“Heartwood!” I gasp, rushing toward him, throwing my tool bag to the side.
Serpent save me, he’s lying in the acetic silver, half in, half out, the liquid wall spilling across him diagonally from his chest to hip. Thinking of the way it burned him when he touched it—thinking of Cas’raneah’s blister—my mind floods with white-hot panic. I grab him under the shoulders and heave. He moves a couple of centimeters. He’s so damnably big—
Footsteps. “Maglon!” I hiss as tears blur my vision. “Help me move him!” Maglon comes around the other side of Machine Five, wary of the silver.
“Quickly,” I beg. “It won’t hurt you. Neither will he.”
Dropping to his knees, Maglon grabs one of Heartwood’s arms, and I take the other, pulling him toward the wall. Heartwood jerks to a stop, the silver seeping into the fabric around his calves.
“Chain,” Maglon says, pointing to something on his side. “He’s chained down.”
“Come here. Stand over him like this.” I get on my hands and toes and arch over Heartwood so the silver washes over me instead. Seeing that it doesn’t hurt me, Maglon takes a similar pose. Crawling under him, I drop my ear to Heartwood’s lips, feeling the lightest wisp of hindered breath. Relief chokes me, but he’s not safe yet. None of us is. Reaching the chain, I follow it to where it’s clasped above Heartwood’s knee. His pants are torn, and the iron cuff makes direct contact with his skin.
I don’t understand. Even dwindled as he is, even with his divinity leached, Heartwood is stronger than Moseus. He ripped apart Machine Three with his bare hands. How—
Then I smell it. Something earthy, slightly floral—
Oh gods.Chrystanus. It grows in the garden. Heartwood told me the roots were poisonous, even to his kind.
Moseus took no chances.
“Give me the pickaxe!” I shout.
Awkwardly positioned, Maglon lifts it. I grab the thing, heft it with both hands, and aim for the center of the chain. My aim is true, and the old chain snaps under the force. It’s loud, but I don’t care. Heartwood, wake up. Please.
I grab him under his shoulders and pull. Maglon grabs his legs and pushes, still blocking the silvery waterfall. When we free Heartwood, Maglon hurries around the machine and hisses for Amlynn to come up.
Grabbing fistfuls of fabric, I tear Heartwood’s trousers at the seam, from upper thigh to ankle. The cuff fits snugly. Locked. Does Moseus have a key, or does he even need one? I doubt he had plans to free the god who unwittingly gave him a second chance at power.
“I’m sorry,” I murmur, and wedge the tip of the pickaxe between the ends of the cuff, where a link of chain connects them. “This is going to hurt.”
I try to break it, but Heartwood’s body moves with the force, and I can’t get good leverage, though he’s definitely taking deep bruises. Maglon, Amlynn, and Salki appear, Amlynn quickly rushing to the patient. “Heartwood?” she asks me.
I nod. “I need you guys to hold his leg. And the cuff, but not with bare skin. It’s poisoned.”
Salki pales, but she comes over and sits on Heartwood’s shin. Maglon straddles his thighs. He pulls his sleeves over his hands and grasps the bottom of the cuff. Amlynn cups her hands over Maglon’s, steadying them.
With all the strength Ruin left me, I heave once, twice—
Maglon curses as I pinch his fingers, but the chain link snaps. I knock it loose with the pickaxe, sending it under the silver fountain.
“Water.” Amlynn’s voice takes on a commanding tone. Salki fumbles with a bladder on her belt and hands it over. Amlynn cleans the poisoned skin with a handkerchief, as well as the puckering wound from the pickaxe. I hand the tool to Maglon, who stands guard.
“Heartwood.” I kneel by his head and take his face in my hands. “Heartwood, can you hear me?”
A lantern comes to life behind me, illuminating Heartwood’s injuries, and I gasp.
His clothes are torn. Burns mar the pale skin on his exposed leg. I pull up his shirt. The parts of him that Moseus left under the acetic silver are raw and red, meaty, running from just under his left pectoral muscle down to his right hip. Amlynn grits her teeth.
“I didn’t bring enough supplies for this,” she grumbles, but gets to work anyway.
“He’s a god. He’ll make it,” I say, assuring myself more than anyone else. I turn back to him, smoothing hair from his face. “Heartwood? Can you hear me?” Though I can now hear his strained breathing, I press a hand to his neck to check for a pulse. It’s slow, but it’s there.
Salki brings me back to the task at hand. “Where is Moseus?”
My gut sinks to my hips. Where is he? We’ve searched everywhere ... was he hiding behind Machine Three?
“Pell.” Maglon takes a few steps forward.
Getting to my feet, I follow his gaze. I’d missed it, in the rush to get to Heartwood. There, camouflaged within the clinging dark, bubbles a hole like the one consuming the tower doors, but this one glimmers a violet so deep it borders on black.
It’s right over Machine Five’s protrusion.
“He’s outside.” My tongue sticks to the roof of my dry mouth. The windows are too narrow to fit him, and screened with that translucent material, so that hole must be a portal. He must know we’re here. We’ve only minutes left.
“Nophe.”
My thoughts crumble at Heartwood’s voice. Whirling around, I drop to his side. His eyes are open to hair-fine slits. His breath rattles up his throat.
“Heartwood, you’re going to be okay,” I promise, cradling his jaw. “Will your godhood pull you through? You’ll be okay, right?”
“Ru ... in,” he whispers, then coughs.
“I know. Will you be able to heal, with what it took?”
He coughs.
“Where is Moseus?”
Weakly, Heartwood lifts a single finger and points toward the portal.
I place a soft kiss on his lips. “Amlynn is a doctor. She’s going to help you.” I glance back at her as she gingerly dabs something over the worst of Heartwood’s burns. Hopefully gods respond to mortal medicine.
Heartwood blinks. For a moment I fear his consciousness is slipping, but his lids lift a little more, his pupils narrowing on mine.
“Heartwood?” I grasp his hand.
In a voice rough as sand, he says, “You have my sister’s eyes.”
Dizziness strikes me like a blow to the head. “Your sister?” I squeeze his fingers. “Heartwood. Ether. What was her real name? Her name in Thestean?” He grunts from Amlynn’s ministrations. I pat his cheeks to keep his attention. “Heartwood. What was her name?”
He swallows. Seems to fall asleep for a moment, but his lips murmur, “Cas’raneah.”
Tears fill my vision. This whole time. Ether is Casnia. She’s been in Emgarden since the war, and he didn’t know. None of us knew. Moseus used him. He used all of us.
“I’ll take you to her,” I promise, “if you live.” It’s half promise, half threat.
He doesn’t answer. Regretfully, I pull away from him and turn toward the purple emptiness on the wall.
“Maglon, with me.”
He nods.
I meet Salki’s gaze. Neither of us speaks.
I got us into this mess, so it’s only fair that I pass through the portal first. Grabbing both of my weapons, I let it suck me in. It feels cold, which I suppose I should expect.
Ruin waits for me on the other side.