City of Burning Shadows (Apocrypha: The Dying World) (12 page)

Iris and I still didn’t get it. Copper slapped the paper. “Don’t you see? It’s the Crescent. It’s the way in.”
 

CHAPTER NINE

No Action without Reaction

Micah did most of the talking. Copper still seemed hostile to the idea of sharing any of this with us. Micah was excited enough for both of them. “It’s something that’s never been done before. Imagine the story it will make.”

“It’s not a bad plan,” Iris said thoughtfully, staring at the blueprints. “A small, tight group, well-armed and well-informed.”

Encouraged, Micah went on. “Copper can build jammers to block their passive security. Then it’s just a matter of—”

“No.”

Both of them turned, looked at me like they’d forgotten I was there. “The Crescent’s security isn’t just a matter of sensors and checkpoints,” I said. “They’ve got layers of plans and redundancies created specifically so no one from the outside can predict them. The things Seana used to tell me about—and that was all before the world went to hell. You think, now they’re the only people left with real resources, their security isn’t going to be even tighter?

“Plus, they’re all Jansynians up there. And we’re not. So the first time any of Copper’s people get spotted by anyone, it’s over. No one’s going to think for a second they belong.”

“Copper knows what she’s doing,” Micah said, looking to her for help, but Copper just sat staring. Still sulking? Micah pushed on, but with less confidence. “We’ve got breakdowns and schematics—”

“You may know the tech, but that doesn’t make you an expert on Jansynian security. None of us are. I’m the closest we’ve got, and I’m saying it isn’t possible.”

Copper snorted. “Not an expert. Just someone who used to date a girl who liked to pillow-talk.”

Micah spread his hands, a pleading gesture at Copper. “What’s wrong? Yesterday you were five kinds of excited about this.”

Copper looked at me, her eyes narrowed. Suspicious. A clear answer.

Micah folded the plans back up. “Maybe we should drop this. Until everyone’s calmed down.”

 
“Maybe.” Copper stood, brushed off her knees. “For now, I’ve got a circuit board that needs rewiring and tools to forge.”

I knew a dismissal when I heard one. I hadn’t gotten to ask any of Amelia’s questions, but Copper didn’t seem in a mood to answer. “We can talk again tomorrow.” After I’d helped Seana. After I’d earned a Jansynian favor. When I’d be able to prove it wasn’t so horrible that I was working with them.

Micah, Iris, and I left Copper alone. We gathered at the edge of her platform. I leaned against the railing, took in the dizzying view. From here, there were enough shelters and platforms and walkways between us and the lift I couldn’t see any hint of it. I could almost pretend we were in our own world. “So what’s the next step?”

“I should go fill Amelia in.” Iris climbed over the rail. “I’ll see you tonight.” She stepped over the edge, shifting as she fell until falcon-Iris snapped out her wings and sped back towards downtown.

Micah watched with open admiration. “Wouldn’t that be a handy trick to know?”

“No kidding.”

“Look,” he said, “I don’t know what’s gotten into Copper. But she isn’t usually like this.”

I could understand. “Her sister’s in danger. The Jansynians are scary. And it’s the end of the world. None of us are exactly at our best right now.”

Micah laughed. He’d always been like that, quick to laugh, quick to find joy in things. I was amazed he could still be that man.
 

And I realized that somewhere along the line, without even noticing, I’d stopped being mad at him.
 

Micah moved up next to me, leaned onto the railing so that he rested on folded elbows. “Do you believe that?” he asked. “That it’s the end of the world?”

“What else could it be? Since the Abandon—”

He laughed again. “Oh, come on, Ash. Don’t tell me you’ve bought into that.”

“Bought into what?” I might not be angry, but that laugh had been annoying. Like he knew something I didn’t. “What else would you call it?”

He must have heard it in my voice, because he leaned in, bumped our shoulders together. “Sorry, I didn’t mean anything. I was surprised, is all. One thing when all the news started talking about the Abandon. I get that. They needed some flashy word, some way to talk about the story. But you’re a priest. You really think the gods would just run off and leave us?”

“They’re not here anymore.” I swept my hand out, the whole city before us. “People are dying. The whole world is dying. What else can we think?”

“That there are reasons,” Micah said softly. “That the universe makes sense.”

I shook my head, although I couldn’t have told you what I was denying. “How else would you explain it? What else would you call it?”

“I don’t know,” he answered calmly. “That answer’s going to take wiser folk than me. But I don’t believe they’d just leave us here without warning or explanation. I don’t believe any of the Thirteen were that cruel.”

I had nothing to say to that, nothing that wouldn’t be me lashing out at Micah who’d done nothing to deserve it. Maybe he had faith, but I couldn’t move past the evidence of the world before my eyes. If the gods weren’t here anymore, how could that be for any reason except they no longer wanted to be?

We stood together in silence. If nothing else good came out of this business—if we couldn’t save Spark or Miroc or anyone, I was at least grateful to have found Micah again. For however long we had left, it was good to be with my friend.

“I should go,” I finally said. If I was going to do serious magic tonight, I needed time to prepare. To remind myself what I was doing.

“Come back tomorrow,” he said. “I’ll talk Copper around.”

I had to be honest. “It’s still a bad plan. Breaking into the Crescent—it’ll be a disaster.”

Micah put a hand on my shoulder, his voice both earnest and desperate. “Bring us something better. Find us a way out.”

“I promise.”
 

He nodded and let me go, even if he knew as well as I did it was a lie. The gods were gone now.
 

We’d run out of miracles.

CHAPTER TEN

Storyteller and Dreamers

No one with any sense went into the temple district anymore. The burned-out ruins had become home to the worst kinds of criminals. Desperate, angry, and independent—not the sort you want to run into in the dark.

This wasn’t my first time sneaking into Kaifail’s lost territory, but that didn’t mean I felt confident as Iris and I slipped from shadow to shadow moving towards the city’s rotten core.

Leftover light from the still-living parts of Miroc outlined the skeletal remains of the once magnificent complex. The buildings that made up Kaifail’s church had spread across four city blocks, with the two largest being the great theater in the front and the library in the back. We were here for the latter.

Iris and I stopped across the street from the theater. We took one last look around, as though we’d be able to spot anyone lurking in the darkness behind us. At least no one would follow us once we made it onto church grounds.

Iris waved me across the last open patch we had to cross before the edge of the ruins. “Your house, you lead.” She hated this part as much as I did.

Faking a boldness I didn’t feel, I stepped forward into the ruins.

No matter how many times I’d been through it, I wasn’t prepared for the ward. What started with a buzzing in my spine spread through me as a fever chill. As I crossed an invisible boundary buried in the long-dead grass, the world spun around me.

Behind me, I heard Iris gag. Her discomfort more than my own pushed me forward.
 

As we picked our way through the charred and sooty mess that had been the narthex and visitor’s center, I struggled against the dizziness and nausea of the warding pattern. This was magic beyond my comprehension, and while I recognized how important it was to protect our space and our secrets, I hated that I was as vulnerable to it as any trespasser.

The inner courtyard—desiccated and rocky, but still recognizable—marked the boundary of the outer ward. I made it there just in time to keep from losing the meager dinner I’d scrounged from the office fridge. As soon as Iris crossed out of the trouble zone, she dropped to her knees, gasping for air.
 

I waited. It always hit her harder, but she would recover faster than I. The cost and benefit of being less-than-solid in a metaphysical sense. A shudder rippled through her, then she got to her feet. “Let’s go.”

Dark Kaifail’s sanctum had been skeletonized by the fires, but it was more stable than it appeared. Decay and rot were siphoned off by more magic. Amazing the greatness desperation had driven us to. Before the Abandon, we were far too bickery to have ever worked together on magic of this scale. I picked my way through fallen timbers and scorched granite, trying not to leave tracks in the soot.

At the staircase down, I took Iris’s hand. This was the last and most serious layer of protective magic. Nothing harmful or painful. A simple and powerful misdirection. To those who didn’t bear Kaifail’s mark, these stairs didn’t exist. She closed her eyes and let me drag her down. Her entire body was tense. Even though she’d been here before—even though she knew the stairs existed and led to very real rooms below—she had to fight against the evidence of her senses and a conviction that I was dragging her into the floor.

Powerful magic indeed.

Fortunately, this magic had a boundary as well, and I was able to let go once we’d stepped through the archway at the bottom. “You okay?”

“I’ll live.” There was still just enough ambient light from the city I could make out her yawn. “Let’s get moving. I don’t want to spend another whole night in the field.”

Only one room in the basement remained intact, and it was worth every bit of the magic that had gone into its protection. Too bad I was the only priest still alive who got to use it.

Once we were inside with the door closed behind us, I pulled out a couple mini-lamps and hung them off hooks in the walls. I unpacked the equipment I’d brought, as Iris prowled all about, looking for entertainment.

Before the Abandon, this workroom had been a hub of activity. Archivists like myself, historians, mathematicians, and mystics alike had used this space for the trickiest of magic, taking advantage of generations of rituals that had been carved into the floor. Now the spacious room was a crowded mess of what books and artifacts and miscellaneous treasures we’d managed to rescue.

Iris had no interest in the books and only passing curiosity for the arcane paraphernalia. “Here, help me with this,” I called over to her. “The faster I get set up, the faster I can be done.”

She helped me shove aside books and papers and bags of who-knew-what to clear the circle I needed. Then she stepped back to watch as I pulled out some chalk and started carefully adding to the sigils that were already carved into the floor. It was finicky work that required the whole of my concentration.

“You humans.” Iris stepped up onto an overturned dresser as I had to extend my sigils to where she’d been standing. “You treat magic like it’s a chore.” She dropped her voice into an eerily accurate copy of my own. “Oh no, laundry day again. This pattern isn’t clean enough. Better add more starch.”

I refused to take the bait. This time. “There’s a chest-of-drawers with candles in the back. You want to bring me a few?”

I focused on my ritual edits; even if I’d done them hundreds of times before, careless mistakes could be disastrous. So far, I was laying standard designs; I hadn’t started trying to work in the changes I would need to adjust for the new media. By the time I was done, I realized Iris still hadn’t returned with the candles. I sighed and went to look for her.

#

Iris had made it to the candles and even had some in her hand, but I found her sitting on a pile of atlases, staring at the mural that covered the back wall. “You have the attention span of a goldfish.”

Iris rolled her eyes. She held out the candles without looking at me. “I never noticed this before.”

The mural spread out at least thirty feet along the wall. This had been just another workroom in the vast temple, and I remembered when this mural had been painted, but I’d never given it much thought. It was only one of many great artistic works throughout the Dark God’s sanctuary.

Now I gave it a serious look, and it was easy to tell why it had grabbed Iris’s attention. It was quite something. Just because we priests of the Dark God weren’t as prone to theatrics as our Bright God compatriots didn’t mean we lacked a sense of story. Whoever had painted this mural had been both gifted and faithful.
 

Kaifail was at the center, naturally. Vibrant and alive, taller than the rest, laughing. I recognized the face he wore. The mural’s artist had used our now-dead Favored Son as his model for the god. For all the gods, I assumed, he’d used their Favored Children. Not that I’d ever seen most of them. But Jansyn, just to the right and a little behind his brother, had a face that echoed every one I’d seen in the Crescent. Settled in the grass in front of Kaifail, Fyea could have been another sister to Copper and Spark. All the gods looked happy, or at least content. A far more harmonious tableau than they ever managed in reality.

Her entire body radiating sadness, Iris crept up to the far left of the mural. Her Favored Child wasn’t present like the rest—how could one paint a creature who had no real shape? She reached out to touch the radiant sphere of energy that was the artist’s rendition of Iris’s creator. Drinion didn’t answer, of course. I had to look away from the naked loss on Iris’s face. We didn’t talk about the gods, she and I. Not about our lives as priests or what their disappearance had meant. And almost nothing remained in the city to remind us of them in day-to-day life.

“Micah said—earlier, he and I were talking. He doesn’t believe in the Abandon. He doesn’t believe they just left us.”

“Does it matter?” Iris asked in a defeated voice. “They’re gone. Knowing why, it won’t bring them back.”