The Forgotten City (34 page)

C
roy brought her dragger down on the floating jetty. Halfway to the Tower, she’d had a sudden memory of the Quartermaine interrogation. She’d heard Kellor talking about why she’d taken Victoria Kilner’s body to the filter …
I wanted to take her home …
Not to Saint Arabel Borough, where Victoria had lived in the Purple Wing neighborhood, but
home
to the Filter –
where she was remade.
The laboratory, or traces of it, had to be here – somewhere.

Croy had spoken to the guards at the top of the Filter, posted there since Victoria was found, and told them she was continuing her investigation. They’d waved her through and now she found herself alone on the jetty. The ten or so on-shift Filter workers had glimpsed her black cloak and retreated to their shed on the other side of the facility.

Croy moved along the jetty, stepping lightly on her scarred leg out of habit even though she felt no more pain. She stopped at the end of the structure where Kellor had chained Victoria’s body between two anchor poles. For a moment, she saw Victoria still there, with the symbols carved in her flesh. Suddenly her dead eyes flickered open and she reached a shaking hand toward Croy. Then the image vanished, leaving Croy’s heart racing.

She fought to hold her composure, scanning the rippling waters all around her. She wasn’t sure what she was looking for – a clue? a key? She felt strongly the truth of Shah-Jahan’s words, and a part of her mind had already broken down and crumbled from the pain of the implications, but somehow she was able to shut off that part and focus coldly on the search. She had to find something, otherwise Nÿr-Corum and everyone in it would be destroyed. Already the influence of the Arequium Mors was infecting the city. Her thoughts turned to the dead smugglers on the Strip and to the fight she’d witnessed at the Old Docks. She realized now they were both fueled by the Mors, and it was only a matter of time before the whole city erupted into violence.

Croy checked behind her, searching for darting shadows, but the darkness was still and the only noises in the Filter were the slow grinding whirr of machinery and the lapping of the waters. Croy recalled the positioning of Victoria’s body, arms outstretched, chained midway down the anchor poles. Why like that, why there? It had to be significant. Croy turned and stepped back, gripping the steel rings on the poles where the chains had been fastened, and leaned out over the water. After a moment of consideration, she leaned back in. She placed her Firestorm and I-Sect down on the edge of the jetty and gripped the rings again. One leg at a time she lowered herself into the water and maneuvered herself down until she was in the exact position Kellor had placed Victoria, with her face parallel with the pier. She heard something beep and a light flashed in the waters beneath her. No fire she knew of could exist under water. Something else was down there. Croy had only been fully submerged in water three times in her life, all in shallow tubs, and the thought of dropping below the surface now was terrifying, but less so than what would happen to the city if they couldn’t stop the Mors.

Croy took in a deep breath and released her grasp, sinking down into the cold water. It closed over her head and face, and she fought against the panic to get back to the air, just letting herself fall down, down, toward the blurred flashing lights – until her feet hit something solid. She felt it shift and start sliding, drawing her inward toward a large dark form. It took her into an enclosed chamber and she heard the shudder of doors closing. In a roaring rush, the waters around her began to drain out. She pushed off the bottom and broke the surface, taking in a gasp of air. The water level lowered all the way until her boots clunked down on metal.

Croy looked around a chamber that appeared to be a vault. It was lit not by fire, but by strange, glowing circular glass-like structures. If the Filter had been full to the top with water, as it had been not so long ago, there would be no way a person could swim down to this place in one breath, and Croy could only assume that whoever had built it had a means of breathing underwater – though the idea seemed impossible.

Ahead of her, Croy saw a transparent door. She stepped to it, looking into a room beyond. A light blazed right in front of her face, running down the length of her body. The doors parted from the center and Croy drew her knife and entered.

The room was large and empty, the walls and floor coated in a white, shiny substance Croy had never seen before. She walked further in, dripping water with each step. She stood in the middle of the space, looking around, until she spotted a small flashing light on the ceiling and stared at it. She saw the light reflect off the shrapnel pedant hanging around her neck – and then it flared into a life-size image of John L. Croy was so shocked that she fell over backward and scrambled away. She gasped as the image moved and she could see, behind John L, the same laboratory where she was now – except it wasn’t empty, it was full of machines and work desks. John L lifted his head and looked straight at her and Croy swallowed back the emotion rushing up inside her. So many annums had passed since she’d seen anything more than a charcoal sketch of him – and now he stood before her as vividly as if he were alive.

“Saint Croy,” John L said and tears sprung to her eyes. He was the one who had made up that nickname after she’d refused as a child to answer to her real name, Barastyna. She used to try to give her belongings away to other kids who she thought needed them more, and he’d call her
the Saint
, not without some bemusement.

John L’s gray eyes shifted as he gathered his thoughts. Windscars carved deep ridges in his battle-hardened face. “You’re here – it means you know. And I want to say before anything else – that I deserve your hate. We used you. We used all of you, with no regard for your lives, or your suffering. You weren’t people to us, you were just data.” His voice caught on the last word. She’d never seen him cry, but he looked close to it. “I’m not the person you think I am – there are things and people I could blame for what I’ve become, for what I’ve done, but I won’t. All I need to say, all I want you to understand is this – you changed me, having you in my life made me
feel
when before I was just frozen. I didn’t
want
to care for you, adopting you was just supposed to be a cover, but it just happened. I couldn’t stop it.” He touched his chest. “You became
my
child,
my
daughter – and I loved … I loved … Perhaps you’ll remember me with nothing but hate …” He lowered his eyes, looking suddenly aged and tired. “But I’m shutting down this program, and corrupting all the files. They’ll kill me for it, but I’m not afraid to die. I only wish my death could take away what I did to you … but nothing can. If anyone can survive this, you will. Never forget – you’re a storm. You’re —” John L cut his words short as the doors behind him opened and other people started to file in. Croy recognized Ezra Quartermaine and Van Pritchard, and another man she assumed was Rogan Kisslefish from his oversized mouth. They all had some kind of transparent mask over their noses and mouths, with tubes leading to tanks on their backs.

John watched them out of the corner of his eye and spoke very quietly.

“Everything you need is here – just remember what you used to call the third ship I flew on.” He looked back to her. He opened his mouth, trying to say something, but couldn’t form the words. He reached out and his image faltered and vanished.

“John!” Croy cried out and the word echoed around the empty chamber. She grabbed at a sharp ache in her chest, feeling crushed and suffocated. She gasped, forcing herself to get control, to focus on his words –
everything you need is here – just remember what you used to call the third ship I flew on.
The third Fleetship he’d served on was the
Talouse
– but when she was a child, first leaning to speak, she’d called it …

“The Tooth,” she said aloud.

From beside her feet a bench rose up from the ground with a small box resting on it. The box had light shining from inside it, beaming up in the shape of a book. Croy hesitated, then touched a finger to the light. The image opened like a real parchment book. She started reading the words, many of them not making any sense to her until she found a section on the project brief: to create human–Dray hybrids that could be controlled by Pritchard and the rest of them to block the Arequium Mors. She flicked again through images of experiments, of people they’d used and destroyed. The pictures were gruesome, but she already felt so numb and disconnected that she barely registered the horror until she found a long list of names. All the names were darkened except for a handful that were highlighted in green light. She read over the lit names –
Barastyna Croy, Kellor and Castor Quartermaine, Victoria Kilner, Darius DeCavisi
.

Seeing Darius there sent a wave of shock through her. She touched a finger to her partner’s name and the pages flicked again to information about Darius. She skimmed it, feeling lightheaded and nauseous, really taking in only one part of the writing – the bit that spoke about them impregnating his mother with Dray DNA. After he was born, his father became suspicious, so they eliminated both his parents and made it look like a Dray attack in the mines. Their execution was carried out by John L. Tears trickled down her face and part of her wanted to reject it, deny it, ignore it, but she’d come too far to return to ignorance. Instead she flicked back to the list of names and pressed on her own.

She was, as Shah-Jahan had said, the first test subject. Her mother had caught John L stealing her from her bedroom and he had killed her and Croy’s father. Their images flashed up and she leaned low over the pictures, crying into them, her tears falling through the light. She’d never seen her parents before, but recognized herself in their features. They were so young, their eyes bright with hope of what was to come.

At the end of the light page she saw the words
first test subject still showing the strongest signs of Dray integration, even compared to the half-breeds. She must never be permitted to leave the city and interact with Drays or they will sense her in their
rete.

All the failed attempts at becoming a Fleetsman suddenly made a lot of sense, but her anger was barely felt in the face of grief. Croy’s eyes went back to her parents’ images and she stared at them without blinking until a buzzing in her head rushed her back to clarity. She knew what it meant – the Arequium Mors had found her.

She grabbed hold of the white box and lifted it off the bench. At her touch, the light book folded back inside it. She pushed the cube into her kit pack, wrapping it in gauze. She only hoped it would survive the water.

She ran back into the vault chamber where she’d entered, then turned to face the glass doors as they closed. A light image of John L was standing in the laboratory watching her. He held up a hand. She turned away.

The waters started to gush back in around her and Croy gasped, trying to prepare herself to go back under. When the water level was over her head, she heard the vault opening up and the platform slid back out. She didn’t know what to do, so she started kicking her legs and scrambling upward through the water as though she were climbing. She managed to fight her way to the top, overshooting the edge of the pier and surfacing beside the jetty almost halfway down. She started to drag herself out, then froze and slid back into the water. The Filter workers were standing on the end of the pier, staring down with entranced eyes. Her Firestorm and I-Sect lay at their feet. With fear driving strength through her body, she used the jetty to propel herself along through the water toward her dragger. When she was close, she climbed up the structure and out, making a run for it. Her ride roared to life with zero reluctance. The workers whipped around toward the sound and started to run at her, but she was in the air before they were even halfway there. She accelerated to full speed and burst out the top of the Filter, where the guards opened fire on her, their eyes also lost to the call of the Arequium Mors. She dodged their attack and sped away. She had all the evidence she needed, but who could she trust to take it to? There was only one person – Darius. She had no I-Sect to call him, but with the Change of Shift siren blaring through the city, she knew where her partner would be – the Tower.

T
he first few steps had hurt the most, but from there her body had gathered strength with every step after. She didn’t know the exact science of how long it should take a person to recover from so much blood loss – or if it was even possible to recover without a transfusion – all she knew was she felt sharply focused and strong, maybe even stronger than before, and she didn’t question it, she just kept putting one foot in front of the other, until she saw the massive barred door looming up ahead of her. The sight spurred her on, and she ran toward it, her bare feet thudding on the smoothed rocks of the path. She reached the bars and suddenly felt a surge of apprehension. It wasn’t a door to keep people out – even the biggest of the gargantuan-breeds could pass between the bars with ease. This door was built to keep something in – something huge beyond imagining.

The image of the firebird dragon, which had appeared on her back after they’d defeated the Skreaf, began to heat up. She didn’t know if that was a warning to stay away or an encouragement to enter, but either way there was only one direction she could go. Silho climbed a row of stairs up to the bars and walked through, staring at the massive columns of metal as she passed them. As soon as she entered the cave tunnel beyond, she smelled something – a strange combination of hot metal, smoke and a horse stable. She gripped the Omarian knife tighter by her side and continued on. The further in she walked, the louder the sounds became, the snorting and grunting, the stomping, the rushes of what first sounded like water – and then like what it really was – fire.

Silho reached the end of the tunnel and stepped out with trepidation onto a tall walkway held up on long, precariously balanced rock pillars. The walkway cut through the center of an enormous cavern. Silho looked around and the sight rendered her speechless and amazed. On ledges and in caves all around the walls of the vast lair, firebird dragons sat and lay, ate and squabbled – snorting smoke and sparks and snapping enormous jaws. Dragons had been long extinct on Aquais, but there must have been hundreds of them here. And she only needed one – one she could climb onto and fly up through the center of the castle and out into the open air. It had seemed like a good plan when she had first found the dragons through the walls while looking for an escape route, but now it seemed more like insanity. How was she going to get onto a dragon’s back without it incinerating her?

Taking in a deep breath, Silho stepped further out onto the walkway. It was crumbling at the edges, with some parts of the path completely collapsed in, leaving a view down to the lava river – so far below it looked like just the thinnest of red lines. As she walked, Silho kept looking around to see if any of the firebirds’ glowing yellow eyes were turning her way, but they didn’t seem to even notice her. They all had shimmering green scales just like her bloodline marks, with huge spines on their backs and spikes around their heads. It felt like she was walking in a dream. She was staring so much, and not concentrating on the pathway, that she didn’t see the section ahead that fallen away. She stepped right into it and fell through. On impulse she immediately dropped the Omarian knife and grappled at the loose rock, trying to find a handhold to cling to. She managed to grasp the edge, but it fell away and she found herself grasping at air. A hand shot down and seized her wrist and her first thought was
Copernicus
, but another man’s face appeared above her.

“Got you.” Lecivion said, triumph in the words.

He startled her so much that she automatically blinked into light-form and actually managed to draw some strength from the burning fortress of his body-lights, when before she’d thought it impossible. Surprise registered in his stare. Silho used the strength she’d taken from him to reach up and grab his arm with her other hand and swing her body hard, trying to use her weight to drag him down as well. He had to let her go to stop himself tumbling over the edge, and as he did, she released him too, managing to grab onto the side of one of the pillars beneath the walkway. Lecivion’s furious face appeared, looking under at her from where he was lying on the path above. He reached out, trying to get hold of her arm. She tightened her grip on the pillar, but could feel the rock loosening under her fingers. It wasn’t going to hold for very long.

“Come here!” Lecivion growled, taking another swipe at her. She could hear the boots of more Omarian soldiers running along the walkway, sending pebbles and rocks scattering down into the abyss below. A crack appeared in the pillar where she clung.

Silho desperately searched around her, looking for something else to grab. There was nothing within reach, except Lecivion’s waving hand. Then she spotted something below them – a firebird sitting on a ledge that was jutting out from the cavern wall. It wasn’t directly beneath her, but if she managed to kick off from the pillar hard enough, there was a chance she could propel herself across to it as she fell. But it was going to take some serious power, more than she naturally had in her legs. She looked again at Lecivion, who was still stretching out trying to reach her, his burning fingertips brushing against her hair. She swiched to light-form. He sensed it and yelled, “Don’t you dare!”

She managed to draw again from his lights before being forced to look away, her eyes searing. She used her enhanced strength to hurl herself backward off the pillar and toward the firebird ledge below. The air rushed around her and her stomach twisted. She thought she wasn’t going to make it and started kicking, trying to propel herself further, but she ended up overshooting and landing on the dragon’s back. She started to slide down the scorching hot scales, but grasped onto one of the creature’s back spines and dragged herself up between two of them to balance. The firebird gave a grunt and Silho was shunted left to right as the dragon stood and turned around to look right at her – its face directly in front of hers. The depth and beauty of its ancient eyes mesmerized her. The dragon sniffed at her, then raised its head, looking longingly toward the sky. As it did, Silho noticed the huge chain and lock around its neck, keeping it prisoner here in the cavern. Sounds drew her attention to above them, where Lecivion and his soldiers were running down steps cut into the side of the cavern, rushing toward her.

“Listen. I want to free you,” Silho said to the firebird in Urigin, hoping by some chance it might comprehend. “Will you help me?”

The dragon snorted steam and something about its stare told Silho it understood. It turned its face away from her, as though readying itself, and Silho saw a partially broken spike on its head. She stood up on the creature’s back and ran across it to the spike. With some effort, Silho managed to twist it around and break it off completely. Cautiously, she sat on the creature’s neck and slid down to stand on the chain beside the lock at the firebird’s throat. It felt like standing directly in front of a furnace. Silho crouched down and pushed the spike into the lock. Eli had been teaching her lock-picking. His skill made it look ridiculously easy, but that was far from the case. He’d taught her that success depended on setting up the tool properly before beginning to lever it. She tried to remember exactly what he’d said about the alignment and angle, but it was difficult to think around the pounding of her heart. Lecivion was getting closer and closer. Silho held her breath and twisted the spike; at first nothing happened, so she pressed harder and slightly upward and heard a click. The firebird heard it too, its body jolting. Silho dropped the spike and scrambled back up the dragon’s neck. It pulled back against the chain and the open lock fell away. The dragon gave a deep snort that sounded like excitement and moved to the edge. Lecivion, on the stair just above them, saw what was happening.

“Stop!” he commanded. “Oren!”

Silho looked back at him and heard her mother’s voice in her head,
Don’t be me.

“I’m not Oren,” she shouted, then gripped tightly to the firebird’s head spikes and said, “Go!”

The magnificent creature spread its wings and leaped off the edge, soaring upward. Silho heard a thud behind her and glanced around to see that Lecivion had jumped onto the dragon’s back and was now climbing toward her, a look of manic determination on his face. She was facing him, so didn’t see the top of the cavern approaching fast. The firebird struck it, the gap leading out, slightly too narrow for the creature’s body. Silho was struck by a boulder and lost her grip as the dragon broke free. She tumbled off its back and fell to a flat roof terrace at the top of the castle. She landed badly and when she moved, felt a sharp pain in her chest – maybe broken ribs.

Silho held an arm across herself and struggled to sit up, glimpsing the turrets and towers of the castle, the lava gushing down its walls and the scorched plains stretching to the volcanic mountains on all sides. A violent wind blew ash and sparks everywhere. Lecivion landed on his feet on the other side of the rooftop and started moving toward her. Silho fought through her pain and stood, facing him. His steps hesitated, then stopped. His mouth twisted into a humorless smile and he said derisively, “What are you going to do, Silho Brabel? What’s your plan?”

As he lifted his hand to trap her in light-form, Silho spotted the Solace in his belt and said, trying to delay him, “Wait! You called me Oren back there …”

“Yes,” Lecivion said flatly. “Slip of the tongue. You look like her and I don’t mean that as a compliment.”

“You said she was a Draigar,” Silho said to keep him talking. “I want to know what that is.”

“It’s of no consequence,” he replied.

“Are you afraid to talk about her,” Silho baited him. “Is it still too painful? I feel sorry for you – to be broken by love like that.”

Lecivion snorted, the flames burning in his eyes. “Draigars are a race of people who live in the farnorthern lands of the world Hydria – or at least they did until I killed them all …”

“Why did you kill them?” Silho asked.

“We saved them from the ratha demons and your mother was payment rendered. When she left, I let the rathas back in to finish the job they’d started.”

“So it was revenge?” Silho said.

“Her family was very important to her. I can imagine it would have caused significant distress to hear of their fate, especially since all she ever dreamed of was to go home …” The memory of it made him smile.

“You wiped out an entire world just because some girl didn’t want to be with you anymore?” Silho said, unable to keep the revulsion out of her voice.

“Not the whole world – just half of it,” Lecivion replied, unaffected by her hate. “The North of Hydria still stands after the four barbarian kings, Apollo of Corinthia, Kleomedes IV of Thesolon, Sphairos of Armen and Sirion of Anacharasis made an unwitting pact with the ratha demon king, Mordan-Grieg, which resulted in the sparing of the North.”

It seemed to Silho as though Lecivion was enjoying the sound of his voice as he recounted the history of this world Hydria, which he had all but destroyed. It gave her time to back up to the ledge of the rooftop and cast a quick glance over. There was another flat terrace a short fall below. She couldn’t jump it and survive, but she could skid down the slanted wall.

“I wouldn’t if I were you,” Lecivion said. He raised his hand and Silho leaped up onto the ledge and jumped. She landed on the tilted roof and started skidding and tumbling down to the terrace below. She slammed down onto the rock and staggered up to her feet as Lecivion landed right behind her. She spun around, backing away. His eyes stayed locked onto hers.

A deafening screech ripped through the air and they both ducked low as several gigantic forms swooped across just above them. Silho stared up into the ash-hazy red sky and saw her dragon under attack by several larger firebirds. She felt a horrible pang watching it fight for its life.

“That’s the way of nature – survival of the fittest. Beautiful, isn’t it,” Lecivion said.

“It’s horrendous and so are you. Do you ever think if you hadn’t been so jealous and possessive, if you’d let Oren visit her home, then maybe she wouldn’t have left you?”

Lecivion momentarily froze, but then he recovered and said, “I told you that you hadn’t taken anything from your father, but I was mistaken – you’ve got his big mouth – Englan Chrisholm, diplomat to Hydria … The smartest fool I’ve ever known. Instead of turning her over, he let her convince him to defy me – why? Because he cared for his baby.” Lecivion said the words as though the very idea was pathetic.

The firebirds swooped over them again and Silho saw her dragon breathe fire at the other three, forcing them to back off. Lecivion saw her watching and said, “It’s an interesting thing that only the females can spit flames. Just like women and their words.”

He was trying to be scathing, but the information triggered a thought in her. Omarians could only breathe fire after they’d completely drained someone’s life-force – but if the female dragons could do it all the time – maybe she could as well. It was from the firebird bloodline that all their skills were derived. She pictured herself exhaling fire and felt the dragon image on her back heating up and a pressure swelling in her chest. A lightheaded hope swept through her.

“Enough talk,” Lecivion growled. “Time for surrender … or pain.”

“Pain, then!” Silho shouted.

She lunged forward and expelled a blast of blue fire right into his face and at the same time grabbed the Solace from his belt and slashed out toward his neck. He managed to turn away, but it nicked his neck. Silho spun back to the ledge and jumped up – there was a third terrace below. She jumped off and skidded toward it, clutching Solace and hearing Lecivion crashing down right behind her.