Ashlords

by Scott Reintgen

  What have I done?

  My eyes flick back to the other Ashlord. She’s surrounded, too, but a far better soldier than the other official. She sweeps her sword in dangerous arcs, carving a cautious circle around her. The rebels backpedal until one of their number answers.

  He looks like an average Dividian until his weapon lashes out to meet hers. The Ashlord parries the blow, but I can see my own surprise echoed in her expression. The soldier’s entire right limb is hardware. From the shoulder down, an arm of pistons and steel and strange joints.

  The second surprise is how young he looks. The determined look on his face can’t hide the fact that he’s just a boy. I watch as he swings again and again and again, backing the Ashlord down with the strength of each blow. He matches that strength with grace. There’s something poetic about the way his shoulders twist at the last moment. His metallic arm catches the point of her sword and another turn sends the weapon spinning to the dirt.

  The boy moves to finish her off at the exact moment I notice the flames.

  Panicked, my eyes sweep back to my legs. Hammer’s heart has given out. The burst of fire courses over and through her, and I realize the flames are starting to spread to me, too. I squirm and scrape my nails into the dirt, but I don’t have the strength to get out. The heat snakes through my leggings and I can’t bite back the screams.

  Half the rebels are at my side in seconds. I feel hands and see legs and they’re pulling me free. Someone pats me down. Someone else turns me over. Beyond them, I see the final Ashlord fall. She gasps as she does, and the boy with the metallic arm kicks her aside to end it. Blood drips from his elbow joint as he sounds the next command.

  “Gather the ashes,” he says. “Loot the corpses. Help the girl. There’ll be more.”

  One of the rebels pulls me to my feet. In the failing light, I can see that every single one of them is Dividian. I’ve been surrounded by Ashlords for so long that I forgot what it’s like to have someone look my way without their chin raised in pride. There’s something blessedly familiar about their casual stances, about the scent of the same cologne my father wears curling into the air. These are my people. I’m still wary as the leader crosses the distance and offers a greeting.

  “The name is Bastian.” We shake hands. I have never seen eyes as light blue as his. And I’ve never seen someone so young with so many scars. Something about my expression has him grinning ear to ear. “You must be Imelda Beru.”

  The others look up to smile at me as they pick the pockets of the dead. It takes a few seconds to realize the whole crew is younger than I thought. A bunch of rebel boys and girls.

  “We came down from Sickle Pass as soon as we caught wind of what you were doing.” He nods back to the tree line. A figure is crossing the plain. “Your uncle even sent a familiar face so you’d know you could trust us.”

  It’s an effort to look past the fallen Ashlords. All three are dead. The fourth is back in the desert, food for birds or wolves or worse. My eyes fix on the figure, though, and finally I recognize him. “Luca?!”

  The last time I saw him he had a guitar in hand. He watched my first rebellion against Oxanos, so it’s only fitting that he’s here for my second effort. He’s exchanged the guitar for a sword, though I notice Bastian kept him out of the action just in case. We embrace in a hug.

  “You’ve got every village in the Gravitas stirred up something nice,” he says, releasing me. “My father got your instructions. The plan worked.”

  “So far,” Bastian puts in. “If we can help you pull this off, you’ll be a proper legend.”

  I frown. “Help me pull this off? Isn’t it over now?”

  Bastian’s grin widens. “You think they’ll send just four of them? What’s your take?”

  That question has my eyes narrowing. “My take?”

  “On the belt,” he says. “That’s what you stole, right? Components?”

  I nod, but don’t answer right away. My silence drags a laugh from him.

  “Look, it’s all yours. That’s a Dividian rule, a mountain rule. Every outlaw here respects that. If you steal something from the Ashlords, it belongs to you. No questions asked. And if you think I’m going to steal something from Dig’s niece, you’re out of your mind.”

  Dig. I’ve never heard someone call my uncle by that nickname. Luca just nods.

  “It’s safe, Imelda. That’s the code. The only threat to you now will be Ashlords.”

  A weight slips off my shoulders. “Let’s just say the belt is worth a lot.”

  “A hundred and fifty thousand legions sound right?” Bastian guesses.

  It’s not a bad guess, either. Clearly he’s smart. “More than that.”

  Some of his crewmates whistle. Bastian just keeps grinning.

  “Well, you have it on you, right?”

  I lift my riding jacket just enough for him to see the cubes clipped onto the front of my utility belt. He nods once before looking around at his troupe, making sure everything’s in order. I glance around, too, gauging how interested his soldiers are in my take, but they look too busy looting their own treasure. Luca shakes me by the shoulders.

  “That was brilliant, Imelda.”

  I smile at him as Bastian’s soldiers finish their work. He orders us to start marching as soon as everything’s been picked clean. I watch as he sweeps the long hair out of his face and looks back at me over one shoulder. He seems pleasantly surprised by me.

  “So. You’re the Alchemist, huh?”

  I smile at him. “Now I am.”

  Another curse slips through your lips.

  Why did Quinn ruin everything? If it had been you down in that pit, Etzli would have ridden by and laughed as she did. That’s how Ashlords work. Another person’s misfortunes only mean your gain, your victory. Quinn’s apparently never learned to live by those rules.

  Frustrated, you give Trust’s lead rope a sharp tug. The horse protests before picking up his pace. The light from his coat casts a soft glow a few feet ahead. Enough to be sure of your footing, but little more. Above and beyond, the darkness of the tunnel unsettles you, especially now that Quinn isn’t at your side.

  “And then she guilt-tripped me, Trust. Like I was this awful person for not stopping to help out, even though my entire future is on the line.”

  The horse follows in silence. You let out another frustrated noise and continue to make your patient way through the narrowing cave. The air fills with vibrant heat. You let your eyes run ahead, searching the darkness for signs of movement. You’re not sure what you’ll find. You’re not even sure why you’re doing something so stupid.

  “All this for some random spirit.”

  You can hear the grunting noises. Heavy breathing echoes from the tunnel ahead and you finally spot little Quinn. She’s rigged the rope around an outcropping of rock. She has half a length wound around both hands and she’s nearly horizontal as she tries to pull, inching the rope away from the distant pit. Etzli’s pitiful moans echo from somewhere below.

  Quinn’s face is streaked with sweat and her arms and wrists are singed red by her efforts. Either the light or Trust’s clomping footsteps catch the girl’s attention. She doesn’t loosen her grip, but her dark eyes burn in your direction. The look she gives you is furious.

  “What?” she snaps. “Are you lost?”

  “Look, you were right. I’m sorry. Let me help.”

  “Why?” Quinn asks. “Why come back? Figured out that leaving made you a horrible person? Or maybe you came back for some selfish reason? Can’t go on without me?”

  You came back because it felt wrong. That natural impulse that’s been carved into you for your entire life. In the quiet whispers of your proud parents. In the heart-pounding cheers of full stadiums. Always reinforcing one truth: Win at all costs. Be the best. Fight hard and burn brighter. You have never
doubted the righteousness of that feeling until now. So you came back.

  Once, you’d have been too proud to admit that.

  “I was wrong. You were right. Let me help.”

  Quinn’s eyes narrow, but she gives you a conceding nod. You lead Trust forward and attach a line to the back of his saddle. Quinn uncoils the rope around her wrists and edges her way forward, allowing you to work with the slack. Calmly, you tie a pair of riding knots. After giving each of them a testing tug, you turn Trust around. Quinn doesn’t let go of the rope until she sees the light moving up the tunnel and Etzli’s body lifting slowly from the nightmare.

  The two of you kneel at the edge of the quagmire together.

  “I’m sorry.”

  “I know,” Quinn replies. “Just…I know.”

  Etzli dangles and bounces until her arms are in reach. Both of you lean down to help pull her up over the ledge. For a second, you imagine the shock Etzli will feel being pulled out by Quinn’s invisible hands, but then you remember she can see Quinn, too. The same way you saw hers and Revel’s spirits.

  Etzli collapses face-first, heaving thick breaths. You stop yourself from groaning at the slick smears of mud she’s leaving on your brand-new leggings. Instead, you kneel down and push the girl’s hair away from her face. Each ragged breath beats back your disgust. She might be dirty, but at least she’s alive. Quinn was right. Abandoning Etzli would have been the same as signing her death sentence.

  The room gives a shuddering jerk. It rocks you to your feet, sending both arms out for balance. Quinn’s hand catches your forearm and pulls you back to the safety of the wall. You both notice the pit below begin to move and glow. It’s like watching ocean waves during a storm. Something dark is rising up and you know it’s coming for you.

  Quinn shoves you back toward Trust and helps Etzli to her feet.

  “They’re resurfacing,” you shout. “We don’t want to be here when they do.”

  Another tremor shakes the tunnels. Debris flutters down from the makeshift ceilings. A violent splash of heat sears the air behind you and a glance shows shards of light fracturing the black. You curse, knowing the wraith is breaching. You mount Trust before turning to help Quinn get Etzli in the saddle. Fire scorches upward. A golden, sunlit claw appears along the rim of the pit. Blackened nails dig into the ground as a shapeless head rises, eyes bright with wanting. Etzli’s body fits against you with a slap of mud and heat. Quinn blinks from the floor to Trust’s back and you whip both sides of the horse, urging him into motion.

  He bolts, almost rocking you off one side, but you clench your legs and hold tight to the reins as the wraith gives chase. There’s a press of heat, a scrape of claws, and then Trust’s hooves pounding over both. The creature follows. Its mate howls in the distant dark.

  Trust nearly startles when he hears the noise, but you click a command to keep him calm, feet moving. No matter how quickly you take the turns, the heat trails and grows. You thunder through the mirrored route, hoping you can survive, hoping you can make it out before the sun rises. By your measure, night should be working its way to dawn.

  There’s a final turn before you burst free of the cave, out into a weak, pre-morning light. Quinn slides from Trust’s back and helps Etzli to the ground.

  You free the switch from your belt and squeeze twice. The whip slides out as the wraith appears, burned body framing the entire entryway. Another scream sounds somewhere deeper in the pit. The great creature cocks its pitted head, listening and eager, but you’ve stolen its attention. You’ve interrupted the mating cycle. Its mouth opens in a fiery snarl.

  Trust obeys the press of your calves. A few strides puts you between the wraith and Etzli. The wraith snarls, its beaded, black eyes narrowing. A hole opens in the center of the flames and you see a flash of massive stone teeth. Before it can lurch out into the light, you brandish the whip. A crack sounds as the blow lands just above the wraith’s right eye. It snarls again, but you twist your wrist and land another blow. Twice more it feels the pain of your strikes, and twice more it hears the call of its lover within. It looks torn, but you watch as it scrapes the walls angrily, then turns. You crack the whip one more time and the beast disappears from sight.

  Turning back, you find Quinn on the ground with Etzli. The girl looks like something out of a nightmare. Her shirt is ripped, her eyes are wide, and she’s soiled by streaks of drying sludge. She watches you and it’s clear as day that she’s shocked you came back for her. Ignoring that, you dismount and start removing saddlebags and gear from Trust’s back. Quinn takes the canteen.

  “Make sure she drinks.”

  Quinn nods in the direction of the mountains. “Do you have enough time?”

  She understands what’s happening as well as you do. The sun is almost up. It’s almost the start of the third day and gods help you, you don’t have enough time. You’re not ready for it. The death will have to come quick. The calculations will be a nightmare. You steel yourself, though, because if you can go back and save someone’s life from a sun wraith, you can damn well do some fast-fingered alchemy.

  “Let’s win this thing,” you grunt.

  Trust is down and dying. You set your hand on his heaving neck and watch as his eyes spin with fear. For the first time in all his lives, you don’t whisper quietly for him to enjoy the peace you think he deserves between this death and the next life. Instead, you’re begging the flames to burn quick and hard. When they finally start to race over his body, you tear your attention away to focus on the components. Ashes are gathering on the ground and you’re scrambling to figure out how the hell you’re going to summon a horse in such a tight window.

  Quinn leaves the canteen with Etzli and joins you. She’s like a beacon of ghostly hope at your side. You stand there, thinking and panicking, but she whispers fiercely, “You can do this.”

  Nodding, you kneel over the components. Your mind races in twenty different directions.

  “Sunlight will hit in about thirteen clockturns. Some of my components need at least ten with the ashes to take in a rebirthing. So we mix them in the next three clockturns or it’s a wash. But the ashes are still cooking. Scorching hot ashes burn away components faster. Same result: a wash. So I have to overdose them without over-overdosing them.”

  “Keep calm. Focus,” Quinn says. “What’s the first step?”

  “I’m thinking.”

  You’re not thinking, not really. You’re drifting into instinct. Equations flash through your head, but they’re coming too fast, too unsettled. You take a deep breath and run them again. Lingerluck has resistance qualities. It won’t burn as fast, but it’ll still diminish. You double the typical amount before sifting out a few pinches on instinct. Carefully, you add it to the ashes.

  The pile hisses smoke into the air, burning a pleasant aroma that you have zero time to appreciate. Instead, you turn your attention to the Gasping Mercies. They’re the more difficult of the two components. The side effects of an overdose will destroy your chances. Normally, you’d add the little powdered flowers last. Their burn rate is far higher than most components, but you can’t remember the exact number. Panicked, you glance over at Quinn.

  “I can’t remember.”

  “Talk your way through it.”

  You nod. “Gasping Mercies are a wildflower. They only grow in cemeteries.”

  “Keep going.”

  “The component breeds a horse with healthier hearts and healthier lungs. Side effects of overdosing are asthma, heart murmurs, and collapsed lungs.” You strain mentally, but the words of old texts are blurring. “The Gasping Susan…it burns….If ashes…Dammit!”

  “Gasping Mercies burn faster than most,” Etzli recites. “By a rate of 3.84.”

  Your eyes flick her way. You can’t fight your natural Ashlord suspicion. Etzli is one of your competitors. You are the reason she always fi
nished second. Is she telling you the truth?

  “You saved me,” she whispers. “I vow on my life. The rate is 3.84.”

  Trusting her is like breathing in a new kind of air. You nod your thanks, siphon out the powder, and start sorting through the other components. Vibrant streaks are coloring the horizon. It won’t be long now. You do the final calculation, siphon the powder into an open palm, and flour it along the edges of your pile. The second it’s finished, you almost collapse from the stress.

  “Did we do it?” Quinn asks. “Did it work?”

  You laugh, sitting back and lowering your head onto her shoulder.

  “You just had to save her.”

  Quinn sneaks an arm around you. The two of you sit and watch the sun rise together. You’re still nervous as the ashes stir beneath the first touch of sunlight. Nervous that you got the calculations wrong somehow, that all of this will be for nothing. But the horse that comes striding out of the storm looks healthy and whole. All three of you breathe a sigh of relief.

  You and Etzli exchange a look. An understanding passes. You saved her, but now you’ll go on without her. She’ll survive—you’re sure of that much—but her look confirms what you were hoping for. She wants you to ride on and finish. You nod once before looking back to the waiting course. The hard part comes next. Finishing the Races. Catching the leaders.

  It makes you smile.

  You were born for what comes next.

  After passing Capri’s partner in the morning, we didn’t see a soul on the third day’s ride.

  Capri kept quiet, too. Not a word, except to ask me if I’d pull up his hood. Riding with him strapped to my back wasn’t easy. Not on me. Not on the horse. I spent the entire day staring at my bracelet, expecting the gap between us and the leaders to grow as he slowed our pace. But the rankings fluctuated unpredictably. Etzli started with a huge lead, but all her number did was shrink until she vanished from the scoreboard entirely. Your stomach sinks a little. Something horrible must have happened.