Lucille jumped back, flinging the pouch off her hip, where it broke open against the tower wall. Where there had once been petals, there were now flames—the same shape, and static, but no longer plant. A soldier stomped it out, the plant withering to die as he extinguished it. Lucille was already to the window, leaning out to get a better view of the fields beyond, where the flowers were flickering to life, each of them an individual flame burning bright in the setting sun and growing more intense with each second. As they burned, a shape stood out to Lucille, one that she couldn’t see earlier due to the amount of other flowers they were mingled in with, but now stood out as clear as if she had drawn it herself.
Rise. A massive rune, so large that it was the size of a field, directed toward the sky.
“Hells,” Lucille whispered, her mind flying back to the list. “They weren’t stealing flowers, they were planting them.”
Each of those pairs had been the coordinates for a grid they must have methodically painted out to create the rune. And the flower must be the source of their aurel, enough to power it.
But even if they had the rune, and the aurel, surely they couldn’t have had enough kernels to power something that large. That would take the entirety of Downeytown’s own reserves to produce anything meaningful, and those were locked away, protected.
And Valen’s voice echoed in Lucille’s mind, as chills ran down her spine.
Every lock can be picked.
“When was the last time these kernels were checked?” shouted Lucille, panic flying into her voice as the area between the flowers started to glow, the rune complete as they burned. The soldiers jumped, still distracted by the smoking pouch on the floor, and snapped to attention.
“Miss, as I was explaining, we didn’t realize checking the kernels was a requirement of–”
“Damn us from the heavens!” Lucille cursed, then extended her mind to the kernels below. She could collapse the tower, skate to the closest lift, take that down the mountain, then skate to Downeytown as she had done earlier. But that would take too long. Already the plants surrounding the rune began to smoke. She needed to be down there now to disrupt the kernels' flow or to destroy the rune. That left her with a single option, an option she never would have considered had it not been for the adrenaline flowing through her veins and her quick visualization not lasting long enough to incorporate fear.
Each of the seven towers around the horseshoe plateau was built similarly to a long balloon, a sealed tube of woven fabric. At the top were the runes keeping them aloft, and at the bottom were the kernels powering the construction. Excess kernels, as Lucille had mentioned, for the protection of the city. Kernels that were sewn inside the tower itself, through a pouch connected underneath, and that Lucille now intended to put to good use.
To lower the tower, she would have to deactivate the air rune and earth runes, removing the source of kernels from them. Instead, Lucille yanked energy from the mound of kernels below, and jammed as much power as possible into both runes. Instantly the tower turned rigid, taut as earth activated first, repelling the ground below and stretching the fabric. Then air followed, reaching to the sky above, air billowing around them as it sought the heavens. And with a mighty wrench that sent the soldiers stumbling while Lucille gripped the windowsill, the tower ripped free of its foundation, launching itself into the sky.
To say it was flying would be an exaggeration. Rather, Lucille’s channeling kept the tower generally upright as wind buffeted it left and right, the bottom swinging like a pendulum and slamming against the earth as they reached the cliff’s edge. Then they were falling, taking every ounce of Lucille’s concentration to keep them from flipping as the soldiers screamed and bounced around the enclosure, the tower’s edge grinding and bouncing against the cliff’s face, carving a shallow rut against the stone with the remainder of its foundation. Bouncing away from the cliff face, they glided through the air, descending too quickly. Lucille redoubled the flow of kernels into the air rune to buffet them upward, swaying on drafts of air that were as unpredictable as tomorrow’s weather.
Beyond, as they closed in on the walls of Downeytown, there was a flash from the flower fields. And the rune activated.
Fire exploded upward, searing Lucille’s eyebrows before she could turn away, the blinding light burning into her retina’s. An instant later the tower shuddered, thrust upward by the torrent of hot air, slamming Lucille to the ground. When she could stand once more, the tower spun on a wobbling axis, held in place by the updraft of heat, and stuck above the wall.
The fire raged. In fact, to call it fire seemed too lax. It was a burning column larger than Downeytown itself, reaching far into the sky, the flames licking the clouds. The heat was too intense to look directly at, the cloth of the tower already starting to burn despite being a hundred feet away. A tsunami of reds and yellows and blacks, lightning forming in the dark smoke, and Lucille’s ears claimed by its roar.
For a moment panic seized her as she deactivated the wind and earth runes, throwing the tower to the mercy of the updraft. The column held them tight in its grasp, like a leaf in a whirlpool, and smoke billowed in over her, catching in her lungs and stopping her breaths as she fell to the floor. Here, she would die, whether from suffocation or being burned alive, or from the fabric splitting and dropping her to the ground far below. But a single thought raced through her mind. Her hands pawed over her pack, searching for the stone, the water bubble she had crafted, the same that had trapped Valen. Far too weak and small to attack the rune below, but it could cool her off. And more importantly, water was weight.
She fed it power, and water surged out of the stone and over her and the soldiers. Far below, kernels started to pop at the base of the tower—the smallest of the pile, the ones uncared for by the soldiers, and Lucille cursed. This was why they had to upkeep them, so the towers would actually be effective. Now the soldiers were too busy trying to swim in the water rushing out of the stone and avoiding the heat for her to scold them. As the weight increased, they started to fall, gradually at first, then faster as the updraft lost its grip on them, the tower now less of a kite and more of a parcel. Lucille activated the wind and earth runes once more, but they were falling too fast. The bottom of the tower slammed against a Downeytown rooftop and snagged, whipping the top toward the ground as Lucille funneled so much power to the runes that half the remaining kernels popped. The tower straightened, like a balloon at the end of a line, then gradually fell as Lucille released her hold on it, allowing the top to come to rest on the stones, dumping them out in an ashen and sopping mess onto the street.
The screams of tourists running for the gate filled the street, fleeing Downeytown as the column of fire grew larger, and chills ran up Lucille's spine. It was her responsibility to protect them. She should have caught the attack. But as she looked up at the column of flame once more, her heart slowed and she embraced the truth. This was no action of a petty criminal.
This was a full on attack.
As the crowds surged past her, the shouting mothers and crying children, and the Keepers fled as fast as the civilians, Lucille heard a voice. A booming voice, far louder than any man had a right to be, a voice that seemed to belong to the column itself, twisting the flames with each inflection.
“ Flamehawks! Flamehawks! I call you forth. Come and satiate your hunger!”
Chapter 34: Lucille
High above, at the tips of the columns, shapes began to form—streams of fire entertaining to give birth to winged creatures that rocketed upward out of the column, swirling in a halo about the crux. More piled forth, the ring thickening, the creatures nearly indistinguishable from each other as they swirled in faster and faster circles. Lucille squinted, and their features became more apparent. They had talons wrapped in flames, mouths open in joyful screeches, and long tails of jetlike fire extending behind them. They soared on enormous feathered wings that released trails of white smoke with each pass.
For a moment, Lucille
could only stare, her head tilted back and hair flowing about her shoulders. These creatures were beautiful, their every move elegant, their flowing graceful. But when their halo broke, and they streaked toward Downeytown, that appreciation flashed to fear. Like a mouse admiring a lion’s fur, just as the beast opened its hungry eyes.
The gate! Lucille thought, turning toward the archway set in stone. As Lock, she had the ability to close it with a simple press of her palm. If she ran now, she might make it before the creatures, but the city would certainly not be evacuated yet. It’s what her mother would have wanted, she thought as she started to sprint toward it. Duty often required sacrifice.
As Lock, you protect Earth from the heavens, her mother’s voice rang in her ears. Your responsibility lies in sealing Earth away from powers that may harm it from Heaven One.
But these creatures were not from Heaven One. They were from somewhere else, somewhere above. Sealing off in the past meant a rogue magician, or a flood, or a horde of pixie locusts invading the town. Not an army of winged beasts. Would the closed gate even stand against something like this?
As she ran, more of the creatures piled out from the top of the column. Creatures that would incinerate anyone below that Lucille left behind—anyone too slow to reach the gate. Her hands clenched as she passed a family, two of the children barely keeping pace with their parents. A family that would not survive the day. She halted, a war raging within herself of who to save and who to give up to slaughter.
And Lucille realized what she must do, the pieces of a plan forming in her mind. She turned, now running against the flow of people surging toward the gate. She ran toward the river that flowed at the edge of the city, just beyond the wall and straight from the waterfall in the distance, the source of many of Downeytown’s low water aurels.
Two fleeing tourists slammed into her, spinning her torso as she regained her balance, feeling for the kernels in her pouch. They were of little use to her now, against something like the column of fire, but as she darted out the gate and to the riverbank, she had other plans for them. When she reached the water, it was already dry, the mud starting to cake from the heat, the river having run right through the flame column, instantly boiling any water that came from the falls. Fishing in her bag, Lucille pulled out the sliders, placing them on the riverbed and backing away, her mind connecting to the kernels still in her pouch. She’d have one shot, and would have to hope to be lucky.
Water aurels of low grade were common in the falls, but by the time they reached the riverbank along the city, they were usually picked clean by tourists. Over time, some would be missed and embed themselves into the bank, encapsulated by mud.
As Lucille connected her mind to the runes in her sliders, she released the full force of her kernels through them. Muck flew past her as they punched a crater in the bank, coating her in mud as she darted forward, her hand already shaking out the larger clods. Two, then three, then five and six water aurels emptied into her hands, pebble-like and blue, like ice without the freezing temperature. Then, setting her gaze upon the massive fire rune in the distance, Lucille began to draw, knowing that she’d need as many water aurels as possible to contain the amount of energy she intended to force through them.
It was expensive to conjure material from kernels. Moving water was simple, but creating took far more power. As Lucille drew, she created the rise rune, as thick as she could draw it for stability, not caring about the quality of water that came out or the speed. She could spend days creating runes to try and put out the raging fire, and barely make a dent in it, but that was not her intention.
Whoever had created this rune had tapped into the city kernel supply. They would know how much had been hidden there—how much they could access before kernels started popping and their rune failed. Assuming that they wanted the most powerful rune possible, they would have planned for just under that threshold of power consumption.
Now, all Lucille had to do was break the city’s own defenses. Raise the amount of energy required until the kernels popped, and the fire could no longer be generated. The city gate would seal, as it contained a fail safe in the event that Downeytown’s defences were completely depleted.
When the first rune was completed in the air before her, Lucille connected it to Downeytown’s kernel vault, siphoning off as much power as she dared, holding the rune in her mind as she moved to a second. Water poured out like a massive sewer pipe, splashing down into the riverbed, impure and murkey. The rune vibrated, barely holding together under such an impure aurel. Its only strength was that Lucille had used so much material to construct it. It was nearly the size of her own body.
Just as pieces of heaven could be found on Earth, aurels could be found in the heavens; however, they were tainted, impure, and not to be relied upon unless from a specialized location. They made for poor runes—unforgiving runes that would buckle under the slightest inaccuracy. Lucille’s heart pounded as she drew the second rise, conjuring to mind all that she knew of water, of its scent and taste and feeling upon her palms, and working that into the drawing.
Within moments the second rune glowed and joined the first in spewing dirty water. Looking to the column, Lucille saw it flicker momentarily, dark smoke filling the gaps between the flames, and light flashing like a kernel about to pop. Her hand shook as she started to draw a third rune, biting her lip when the aurel snapped. She replaced it with another, carefully scuffing out the area where it had been momentarily incomplete. She swooned as that rune finished, water pouring from it as well, her heart feeling as if it had forgotten a beat, a headache pounding through her temple. She looked up, keeping her concentration on the three channels of kernel energy flowing through her, a surge that should have burned her had she felt any connection to the aurel itself. But this aurel was outside her, and she only directed it, commanded it, as she began her fourth.
When that completed, her head snapped back, and she fell to her knees in the growing flood, her breath coming rapidly. She could feel the kernels straining, threatening a rebellion, almost a squealing coming from them as they begrudgingly complied to lend her their power. And under their weight, the runes twisted and stretched, steam issuing off the water coming from one, another releasing an odor so foul Lucille could hardly breathe.
One more, she thought, rising to her knees. Never before had she handled this much power, all intent simply upon wasting the energy, channeling through runes as inefficiently as possible. Her breath came shallow, but her drawing was true, the lines connecting and waiting in mid air. With her last ounce of strength, she activated it, focusing as much power as she could into the shimmering blue light.
In the distance, far underneath Downeytown, kernels popped. Like teeth to a zipper, the first one gave way as the entire seam started to split. But before they could continue, Lucille fell back into the mud, face toward the sky, and her world turned dark.
Chapter 35: Merrill
Merrill was being watched.
It was never obvious, never how she would expect, like a man standing in the night outside her window, or a guard’s carriage that would follow her on the way to the market. No, it was far more subtle—the face that had been the baker’s apprentice the day before now appeared in the market selling vegetables. A few merchants from faraway lands arrived demanding to know her full growing capabilities, but they never were able to articulate what exactly they sought from her garden. Or the messenger boy she had once caught waiting in her foyer, not just waiting, but snooping. Peering through the keyholes of locked doors and checking her desk for any papers left behind. These, in her opinion, were worse than the obvious guard that Gervis had brought. With these, she never knew when she might be watched. With these, she could never slip up, never check her surroundings and relax when she saw no one suspicious. With these, she was always Abigail.
Each merchant that arrived she sadly informed of Fel’s death, and she introduced herself as the new head of the garden. “In his name I assure you, our
reliability will be held to the same standard as ever,” she said, her hand over her heart. “Fel had been sick for quite a while now, and he had entrusted much of the garden to my care. You should see no difference, and for your patience, on this order we offer you a five percent discount. There is nothing Fel would have wanted more than for his plants to go to those who deserve them.”
Over the past month, Merrill had obtained access to Fel’s accounts with the reports of his death. Her first experience with the number the banker whispered to her nearly caused Merrill to faint. It was far larger than she could have imagined—far, far larger. Fel had always been frugal, to the point where he would weigh his own grain to make sure he had not been cheated at the market, but with this amount of money, he could have bought himself a field without batting an eyelid.
For a moment, hope fluttered across her heart. That number was so large she could pack her bags and be off to the next city, fleeing before anyone would notice. From a distance she could pay her lenders, and she could be rid of Gervis.
“I’m afraid, Miss, that there are some restrictions,” the banker had told her when she inquired about making a full withdrawal. “For two reasons. One, the money is simply not on hand. No, it is not on Earth at all: The vast majority is kept within the vaults of Heaven Three. To fetch it in full is no menial task, but it can be accomplished with patience.
“Second, Fel created this account as a form of a trust. You see, only a maximum of three percent may be removed in a month, by his very direction. Two years after his death, our policy places you in full control over his accounting, but until then you are simply viewed as the actor upon his finances.”
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