by Brandon Mull
“Is it that bad?”
“Who knows? It’s unprecedented. Sounded bad to me.”
“Me too.”
Liam fluttered his fingers and the couch drifted back to its former position. The single, slim support reappeared. “I should let you get some rest.”
Liam stood and went to the door.
“Liam,” Cole said, rising. “Why’d you come by?”
“I was curious about Happy. What a small world!”
“Is that all?”
“I couldn’t sleep and felt a little bored.”
“Okay,” Cole said. “Good night.”
“We’ll keep watch tonight. You’ll be safe. Try to settle down. You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”
“I have. Mine.”
Liam laughed. “Nice. I’m sorry you can’t stick around.” He walked out and snapped his fingers. The door banged shut.
Shedding his clothes, Cole crawled into bed. Liam was right about one thing at least: He needed sleep. Who knew when he would get a good rest again? Hugging a pillow against the side of his head, Cole tried not to obsess about what the next day would bring.
CHAPTER
23
GIFTS
Breakfast was spectacular the next morning. Eggs had been prepared in numerous ways—scrambled, hard-boiled, soft-boiled, poached, fried, deviled, baked, and pickled. Thick strips of bacon glistened in their crinkly glory. Various kinds of toast and pastries vied for attention, along with butter, honey, and jam. A vat of oatmeal had been sweetened with berries and sugar. Pies bulged with spicy potatoes, veggies, eggs, and sausage. Milk was available, and fruit juice, and numerous hot drinks.
Cole felt a little like a death-row inmate at his last meal. They were fattening him up so he could go get eaten by Mira’s rampaging powers.
Jace acted unconcerned. He tossed berries into the air and caught them in his mouth. Mira and Twitch were more subdued. Declan and Jamar ate with them—Declan nibbling at a dry piece of toast, Jamar tearing into the spiciest pie and the pickled eggs. Jamar’s waxy white assistants served the food and drink.
Cole had awakened to find nice clothes—exactly his size—laid out for him. Jace and Twitch had new clothes as well. Mira wore a much more flattering outfit, including a thin silver necklace and sparkly hairpins.
Cole still wasn’t sure precisely what he planned to do. He wanted to corner Declan for advice, but he felt awkward bringing it up during the meal. Unless Declan had compelling alternatives, Cole figured he would leave with the others, then possibly split off when they reached a road to Junction.
After breakfast, Declan stood, supporting himself against the table. “I take it you have decided how to proceed,” he said to Mira.
“We’re going to leave,” Mira said. “I’m going after my powers. The others can join me or go their own way as they choose.”
Cole and Twitch made quick eye contact. Cole wondered how much temptation Twitch felt to take his chances on his own.
“Very well,” Declan said. “I expected as much. It’s really the only option, given the circumstances. I won’t send you away without aid. Most of the semblances and renderings we create here would only function in close proximity to the Brink. The atmosphere near the cloudwalls is much more generous for shaping than elsewhere in Sambria. Nevertheless, I have instructed each of my apprentices to provide an item to help you on your way. These gifts will function anywhere in Sambria. They all belong to Mira. Those who accompany her will benefit from them as well. Asia! Liam!”
Asia entered the room, followed by Lyrus, who carried a wicker basket. She gestured toward him, and the soldier upended the basket on the floor, revealing a tangle of chains and iron balls.
“I call this the Shaper’s Flail,” Asia said. “It responds to a few commands. Flail, ready!”
At those words, the chains became untangled. Five of the iron balls reared up into the air like serpents poised to strike, some higher than others, each attached to one of the thick-linked chains. One ball stayed on the ground. Each ball had to weigh twenty or thirty pounds, and each chain connected to a central iron ring.
“It also responds to commands like ‘return,’ which will send it back to the basket; ‘follow,’ which will make it trail along behind you; ‘defend,’ which will make it protect something or someone; and ‘attack,’ which you should only say if you really mean it. The word ‘flail’ must precede the command for it to work. Flail, return!”
In a clattering blur, the mass of chains and spheres sprang smoothly into the basket. Cole and Twitch shared a glance. The new weapon would definitely bring some added protection.
“The flail is linked to Mira and will only respond to her,” Asia said. “She will guide it to targets with her thoughts and focus, but no effort will be required to determine how it attacks. The flail will also respond to the commands ‘capture’ and ‘threaten.’ As you might guess, don’t try to capture anything delicate. It isn’t a gentle rendering.”
“Thank you, Asia,” Declan said. “Jamar?”
The curly haired shaper stood and held up a red velvet sack with a golden drawstring. “I harvested one of our most abundant natural resources for your use. Massive amounts of water vapor are drawn into the terminal void every day, which means the cloudwall is somehow being constantly replenished. This sack contains twenty thousand cubic yards of fog. It can empty in twenty seconds. Once empty, if you turn the bag inside out, it can swallow up to twenty thousand cubic yards of fog at the same rate. Use it over and over if desired.”
“Are there commands?” Mira asked.
“ ‘Empty slow,’ ‘empty medium,’ ‘empty fast,’ ” Jamar rattled off. “They work when the mouth of the sack is open. When inside out, ‘fill slow,’ ‘fill medium,’ and ‘fill fast.’ No need to make it complicated.”
“Or useful,” Liam said, entering the room on a hovering disk. “Unless they want to ruin an afternoon at a small beach.”
“Perhaps they’ll need to confuse their enemies,” Jamar said.
“Can they see through the fog better than others?” Liam asked.
“They can release the fog behind themselves during an escape,” Jamar said less patiently. “They could fill enemy barracks. Or obscure a courtyard.”
“I guess it could come in handy,” Liam allowed. “Asia’s gift was as subtle as ever.”
“I’m not sure subtlety will be their greatest need,” Asia said.
“Well, I’ll provide some, anyway.” Liam whistled, and a bird flew to his shoulder—a white-and-gray cockatiel with a yellow crest and orange cheeks. “This is Mango.”
“You’re my new masters,” the cockatiel said in an eager voice, only vaguely birdlike. “I’ll spy for you and do whatever else I can to keep you safe and informed.”
“She’ll answer to any of you,” Liam said. “That way if Mira gets knocked unconscious or is otherwise indisposed, you can still give Mango orders. But if you split up, Mango will stay with Mira.”
The cockatiel flitted from Liam’s shoulder to Mira’s. She stood about six inches tall, not counting the long tail feathers. The bird cocked her head and whistled. Mira petted it gently.
“Her wings feel strange,” Mira said.
“Strange?” Mango challenged, ruffling her feathers.
Now that Mira mentioned it, as Cole leaned closer, the bird didn’t look quite right. The texture of the feathers seemed too smooth and shiny.
“Mango is made from a light substance I designed,” Liam said. “I call it ristofly. It makes her much more durable than if she were composed of flesh and actual feathers. She can fly faster and see better than most real birds. She doesn’t need food or water, doesn’t sleep, doesn’t relieve herself, and can dwell underwater as easily as in the air.”
“See how handy I am?” Mango said. “And you sum it up with ‘strange.’ ”
“Sorry,” Mira said. “I didn’t mean any offense.”
Asia exhaled derisively. “A semblance tha
t requires apologies? Brilliant work, Liam. Very subtle.”
“I’m plenty subtle,” Mango snapped. The bird hopped close to Mira’s ear. “I won’t let anyone sneak up on you. I’ll steer you away from danger. And you can command me to do just about anything. If I don’t understand, I’ll let you know.”
“You made her in one night?” Mira asked Liam.
“Sort of,” Liam replied. “I repurposed one of my best spy birds. But I completely reshaped and refined her, added some spunk.”
“She’s so lifelike,” Mira said.
“Few shapers could manage such a creation,” Declan said. “Flying semblances are hard. Personalities are harder. None of us can replicate lifelike humans and other beasts to match the ones the Western Cloudwall creates. Semblances like Lyrus are uniquely realistic.”
“Could Lyrus come with us?” Cole asked.
“I would relish nothing more than an adventure,” the soldier said.
“I’m aware,” Declan replied. “But nothing we can do would allow you to leave here and survive. That aspect of you is beyond any of our abilities to tamper with. It would be like trying to shape an actual human—there is too much complexity to cause anything but disaster. The semblances from the sky castles can only survive on the castles or here on the peninsula.”
“Then why can Mango come with us?” Cole asked.
“It is easier to make semblances out here beyond the Brink,” Declan said. “Most of the semblances and renderings we create can’t leave. But with effort, we can design semblances and renderings that could survive elsewhere in Sambria, just as most nonliving renderings from the sky castles can survive elsewhere.”
“Forgive me if I spoke out of turn,” Lyrus said, head bowed.
“I appreciate your enthusiasm,” Declan said. “If I could make a gift of you to help these young people on their way, I wouldn’t hesitate.”
“You’ve already done so much,” Mira said. She made eye contact with Asia, Jamar, and Liam. “Thank you for the gifts.”
“We’re not done yet,” Declan said, sounding mildly offended. “I haven’t given you mine.”
“There’s more?” Mira asked.
“How about this for starters?” He waved an arm in a wide gesture and Cole felt his wrist tingle.
All four kids investigated the sensation. Cole saw that the mark tattooed there had changed.
Jace gasped. “It’s a freemark,” he said reverently.
“That’s right,” Declan said. “It would be difficult to go abroad marked as slaves.”
“You can’t change a bondmark!” Mira exclaimed.
Declan gave a small smile. “Most people can’t. They’re designed to be permanent. The shaper who developed them was a student of mine.”
“Just like that,” Twitch said, rubbing his wrist.
“It looks real,” Jace marveled.
“It is real,” Declan said. “Those new marks are indistinguishable from authentic freemarks. They have been reshaped. No traces of the original bondmarks remain. No shaper or needle master can claim otherwise.”
“I can hardly believe it,” Mira said.
“There’s more,” Declan said. “Join me outside.”
Declan moved a finger and his chair hovered up and away from the table. Advancing at a pace that let the others keep up, he led the way to the courtyard. At first Jace didn’t follow the others. It took a nudge from Cole to stop him from staring at his freemark.
Beyond the castle doors, an odd carriage awaited in the courtyard. The enclosed compartment rode on four wheels—not fancy, but clean and well crafted. At the front, instead of a horse, there stood a huge black brick with legs.
“An autocoach,” Jace said.
“For us?” Mira asked hopefully.
“For you,” Declan said. “I could have modified it to move faster. I could have made it more elaborate. But I thought it wiser to make it as typical as possible.”
“Won’t it raise suspicions to see four kids with their own autocoach?” Twitch asked. “Free or not.”
“Astute,” Declan said. “Wearing nice clothes will help, which is why we updated your wardrobes. The last part of my gift also tried to address that problem. Bertram?”
The door to the autocoach opened, and an old man with a close-cropped white beard leaned out. He was dressed in a slightly shabby, old-fashioned suit. “What was that? My hearing isn’t so keen.”
“State your business,” Declan ordered.
The old man’s eyes widened. “How’s that? My business?” He absently patted his pockets. “Yes, well, if I wish to show my grandniece and grandnephews a bit of the countryside, I suppose it is my business. That’s enough chatterboxing. I feel past my prime today, and my joints ache something terrible.” Coughing, he closed the carriage door and leaned back out of view.
“That’s quite a semblance,” Mira said.
“Not my best work,” Declan lamented. “Don’t look to him for profound conversations. But Bertram should hold up well enough while you remain in Sambria. He won’t leave the carriage unless forced, mostly because I doubt his authenticity can withstand close inspection. But he should serve to deflect attention if questions get asked about four youngsters traveling alone.”
“Four kids and an old man,” Cole muttered. “What if somebody decides to rob us?”
“We’ll have our gear,” Jace said. “Right?”
“Your items are already stowed in the autocoach,” Liam said. “I strengthened the shaping of the Jumping Swords to help ensure they would hold up through Sambria. The other objects should continue to function very well.”
“How’s my rope?” Jace asked, an edge to his voice. “It wasn’t working last I saw.”
“It was still functional,” Liam corrected. “I had merely severed its connection to you so it wouldn’t respond to your commands.”
“Will it now?” Jace asked.
“I restored the connection,” Liam assured him. “You don’t have to act so put out. I was doing you a favor. Asia would have cut the rope.”
“The rope is tough to cut,” Jace said.
“Maybe with normal weapons,” Liam replied. “Asia’s blade has a miraculous edge. It would have slashed through your rope like it was smoke, and your rendering would have been ruined, probably permanently.”
“Then thanks, I guess,” Jace mumbled.
“We’ve stored food and water in the autocoach as well,” Asia said. “You’ll find the food packed under the seats, and your gear in a compartment beneath the floor. We included some money to help you on your way. Bertram can assist if you have trouble finding anything. We suggest you leave now. The less time you allow the High Shaper to move his forces into the area, the better chance you’ll have to make a clean getaway.”
“The top speed of the autocoach is not impressive,” Jamar said. “Compare it to a horse at an easy trot. But the autocoach can maintain that speed indefinitely. It needs no food, no water, no rest.”
“So if we get chased, we might be in trouble,” Cole said.
“If dangerous enemies are in close pursuit, you may have to abandon the vehicle,” Asia said. “But the autocoach will only operate for Mira. This is standard enough that thieves will have little interest in the coach itself. Your belongings could be another story.”
“Does it know where to go?” Mira asked.
“Unless you issue new instructions,” Declan said, “the autocoach will take you to Middlebranch. Bertram can advise you about alternative routes and destinations. If you reach Middlebranch, seek out Gerta, a shaper. The locals call her ‘the herb woman.’ She could be a source of guidance. Most of my old colleagues are dead or in hiding. Gerta has no love for the High Shaper and is among the few from the old days who you can reliably find.”
Mira nodded. “Thank you for everything. It’s much more than we could have hoped for.”
“I wish I could do more,” Declan said. “For the first time in decades, your father has shown hints of vu
lnerability. He will move aggressively to reestablish the certainty of his reign. Evade him. Survive. Trust your instincts. Liam will catch up to instruct you about leaving Cloudvale.”
Mira gave Declan a peck on the cheek, then started toward the autocoach. Jace had lifted the hatch in the floor and was examining his golden rope. Beside him, Twitch searched the compartment, probably looking for his ring.
Lingering behind, Cole studied the withered old man in the floating chair. Declan watched him expectantly.
“We need to talk before I leave,” Cole said. “I’m not from here. Is there any chance of me ever getting home?”
Declan brought the chair close and spoke loud enough for Cole’s ears only. “I was beginning to wonder whether you would seek my counsel. There are ways for you to return to your world. Staying there will be slippery. This is a question for the Wayminders of Creon.”
“I briefly talked to a Wayminder,” Cole said. “It was the guy the slavers hired to help them reach my world. He told me the same thing—that I could probably get home, but that it would be hard to stay. I came here so unexpectedly. I still don’t really get where I am. What is the Outskirts? It’s almost like a dream.”
Declan gave a snort. “Almost, especially here in Sambria, where certain aspects of reality can be adjusted. I have studied this question, as have others. The most I know is that the Outskirts is an in-between place. One of the five kingdoms seems to lie between life and death, another between reality and imagination, another has pockets outside the normal order of time and space, and another stretches the limits of technological innovation. As you noted, Sambria seems to lie between wakefulness and dreaming. Where else besides dreams can you rearrange the world according to your whims?”
Cole nodded. “Only here.”
“Each kingdom has its own kind of shaping,” Declan said. “Each has its own wonders and mysteries. I’ll let you in on a Sambrian secret. It may only be the fancy of an old man, but I suspect that the Western Cloudwall taps into dreams to form the castles. Could be dreamers in your world, or ours, or both, or more worlds than we can guess. Troubled dreamers, it seems to me. Perhaps failed dreamers. Call it a hunch.”