Chasm of Fire

by Michael Wallace

  “Thank you,” Thiego said. He pulled away and looked at her, his face red, sweat beading on his forehead. “I’m ready to go again. Do you still have the ring? Is it still black?”

  Iliana pulled it from her hand. Her finger still ached, and her hands were numb where they’d been gripping the blanket, as if some of the energy had got through, but she was otherwise unharmed. The ring had faded from black to a leaden gray, but not yet returned to its original brassy color.

  “Why wouldn’t the ring have worked a second time?”

  “The ring, the thermal shield, they”—another deep breath—“they absorb energy, and they give it back. Like Naila’s gun. The ring has other purposes—you saw that in the Rift. It can’t hold as much energy as the thermal shields.”

  She waved for him to get moving, and they continued at a slower pace. The stairs ahead were steeper than ever, and they had several hundred feet of vertical distance to climb before they reached the Torre estate.

  “I had no idea the temple had magical weapons,” Iliana said when they paused for another breather a few minutes later. “That must be what she sent de Armas—energy guns of some kind. How many will he have?”

  “No idea, I’d never seen one before. They’re mentioned in the scriptures—thank God Naila is a piss-poor student of the lore, or she’d have probably killed us.” Thiego had put the ring on his own finger and now examined it. “Her gun was recovering energy the ring had absorbed, but I don’t think she figured that part out. If she’d known what she was doing, she could have pulled it back instantly, and her gun would have been recharged quickly enough to kill us.”

  “And now? Discharged and useless?”

  “Unfortunately, no. It draws heat from any source, including the air. That’s a longer process, but it works all the same.”

  He fell silent as they continued upward, and when she glanced back, she saw him puzzling out something.

  Soon, they were approaching the Torre estate, and were just around the bend of the final approach to the main gates when a cabalist came hurrying toward them with his hood drawn. Iliana reached for her dagger, afraid of some new treachery.

  But it was only Dorano, the man they’d sent up to give Carbón the warning. Thiego clamped a friendly hand on the other cabalist’s shoulder after the man gave a startled greeting. Once Dorano confirmed that the message had been delivered, Thiego studied the other cabalist’s face with such intensity that the man glanced away with visible discomfort.

  “It wasn’t Maralisa and Kara—they’re innocent,” Thiego said at last. “It was Naila Roja. She’s gone mad.”

  “How is that possible?” Dorano asked. “Did she touch a forbidden artifact?”

  “More likely she’s been mad all along. Mad for power, if nothing else. The geometers didn’t disturb any sort of artifact, it was Naila who melted Kara and tried to do the same to Maralisa. Naila tried to kill us, too, before we fled.” He held out his hand and showed the ring, still a dark gray. “This saved our lives.”

  “By all the wisdom of the Elders,” Dorano said in a low voice. “She did that? That much heat would have . . .” He blinked.

  “Exactly—turned us both to goop. And Naila’s capable of a lot worse. Go to the temple and pass a warning to anyone still outside. Withdraw with the cabalists—let nobody near her.”

  Dorano nodded vigorously. “I understand.”

  He made to leave, but Thiego held him fast. “And find Maralisa. She knows more than any of us what happened in there. I need to understand—how did Naila get the weapons? And did Naila say anything else about what she might be planning before she killed Kara?”

  Iliana was burning with impatience by the time Thiego sent Dorano off again. Why was the Torre estate so quiet? By now, there should be men rushing down to the Great Span to stop de Armas’s man from crossing, or, if it was too late, to send riders to run the man down before he could reach the military encampment at the head of the Quintana Way.

  “Something is wrong,” she said. “Why aren’t they doing anything?”

  “We came up so fast,” Thiego said, “that we must have almost caught up with Dorano. It can only have been a few minutes since he delivered the message. They’re probably still figuring out how to respond.”

  She thought he was wrong. “They wouldn’t have waited a single minute. Come on, let’s see what happened.”

  Guards challenged them at the gates, clearly on edge, having been warned something was afoot, but when they saw who it was, they waved the pair through. A similar scene played out at the front door of the Torre estate, and then they were led into Lord Torre’s book-lined study, the place where he’d died. Probably murdered.

  Daniel Torre—the new lord of the Quinta—sat at his father’s desk, looking troubled. His younger cousin, Pedro, stood by his side. Across from them, Grosst sat with her bad foot propped onto one of the wooden stepladders used for reaching high bookshelves, while Carbón was on foot, head tucked as he paced toward the balcony that sat beyond the open glass doors.

  None of them seemed to be doing anything.

  Chapter Eighteen

  Carbón turned back from the open balcony doors of Lord Torre’s study, his mind spinning in useless circles, to see Iliana and Thiego standing at the doorway. They were flushed and sweating and breathing heavily, and must have come from the temple at a run.

  “Dorano passed us the message,” Carbón said.

  “Then why the devil aren’t you doing anything?” Iliana said, then seemed to catch herself, and put a hand to her mouth. “Your Grace. I didn’t mean . . . I should have . . .”

  “Never mind that.” He waved his hand dismissively. “We took care of it already—I’ll explain in a moment. What happened at the temple? Naila is stealing artifacts and sending them to de Armas?”

  “That isn’t the half of it,” Thiego said. “She murdered one of my geometers, tried to kill us, too, and plans to overthrow the Quinta.”

  “Then keep anyone from entering the Rift ever again,” Iliana said. “It will destroy all our hopes.”

  She briefly laid out their struggle with Naila. They’d approached the temple intending to confront her, only to discover that the Master of Whispers had moved first. She’d expelled the rest of the Luminoso from the temple, plundered a hidden vault, and sent weapons out of the city. When confronted by a pair of geometers, she’d melted one of them and sent the other fleeing, then attacked Iliana and Thiego and forced them to run for their lives.

  “Naila got her hands on the weapons of the Elders,” Iliana said. “And whatever else she cares to plunder from the Sacred Vaults. I don’t know how we’re going to stop her.”

  Daniel, still sitting at his father’s desk, put his hands to his temples. “Is there no end to my wife’s treachery?”

  Iliana was still studying Carbón, and ignored Daniel. “So what are you doing? Didn’t you get my message about the weapons Naila stole from the temple? Any minute now de Armas’s men will be across the bridge and riding hard for Dalph.”

  Carbón was less concerned by this worry than by the new developments at the temple, but Iliana was clearly in a panic over the thought that the weapons might escape the city.

  “De Armas’s men will be shortly intercepted on the road, if they haven’t been already. It turns out our Basdeenian friend was keeping secrets.” Carbón nodded at Grosst. “Show them.”

  Grosst reached into a pocket of her vest and took out a rectangular device with rows of buttons. Each one contained a letter, symbol, or number in the old script, and they glowed various colors.

  “Is that a telespeak?” Thiego asked. “It is!” Iliana gave him a confused look, and he explained the same thing that Grosst had shared a few minutes earlier. “She can send messages across miles. Communicate with someone on the other side of the Rift.”

  “All the way to Basdeen, actually,” Grosst said.

  The engineer still sounded reluctant. In the first, panicky moments after they’d received
Dorano’s message, it had been her suspicious expression that inspired Carbón to question her closely.

  “Turns out our friends from the north are not simply hard-working engineers, masons, and blacksmiths,” Carbón said. “They’re also spies.”

  “We’re not spies,” she protested. “We’re cautious observers, which is different. If you cut off our coal, you strangle our industry, yeah? We’re reliant upon you, and will be more so once we get the dynamic fire from the Rift. Anyway, you can count on us. My friends will tell Torre’s men, and Torre’s men will stop these bastards before they get away with the artifacts.”

  “Aquino is at the first watchtower right now,” Pedro said. “He’s the most loyal man we’ve got. He’ll stop those men and bring them back with whatever they stole.”

  “I hope you’re right,” Iliana said. “But we still need to put an end to Naila.”

  “We faced down a monster with no face,” Grosst said. “Surely we can handle one woman—it doesn’t matter what weapons she’s got.”

  “One woman and whoever she convinces to join her,” Thiego said. He ran his fingers through his sweaty hair. “I should have stayed behind until I found Maralisa, at least. And a few others I think are trustworthy. I’m worried some will be swayed by Naila if she spreads her lies.”

  “Still,” Carbón said, “we’ve stopped de Armas from reentering the fray. Naila has no friends, no family to lean on.” Here, he gave Daniel a significant look.

  Naila’s husband looked away rather than meet his gaze. “I won’t be helping her,” he said. “The sooner she’s stopped, the better.”

  Which was all Carbón was looking for. He didn’t think the new Lord Torre would be any help in a crisis except to stand aside and let braver, more principled people act.

  “So how are we going to do it?” Thiego asked.

  Iliana looked at Carbón. “I’ve got an idea, Your Grace.”

  Carbón nodded for her to continue, and his chancellor began to spin a plan. She would have the Quinta guards and city watch surround the temple, and use the artifacts that Thiego had on his person, plus maybe something from Grosst, to force Naila to confront them. Block the woman’s attacks, then charge her en masse and overwhelm her. Capture her if possible, kill her otherwise.

  Carbón listened, his thoughts still a jumble. He could almost feel the ghost of old Lord Torre in the room, and remembered that day at Lady Mercado’s party, when he’d joined Torre in the baths and confessed that there was something in the mines. That, in turn, had led to Torre’s confession about the Great Span. So much potential in that friendship, snuffed out.

  Iliana was so carried away that he was reluctant to step in, but finally held up a hand for her to stop. “There’s one problem none of this resolves. We can stop Naila, but our larger plan has already been cut off at the knees.”

  She blinked. “What?”

  He sighed. “Did you forget the reason we came up here in the first place? We came to present a plan to Mercado to bring on the Fourth Plenty. We’ve been denied.”

  Now Pedro spoke up. “Mercado has forbidden us from entering the Rift. Forbidden us from working with the foreigners.”

  Iliana’s face fell. “Already?”

  “I sent Pedro up to invite her to our meeting,” Carbón explained, “while the rest of us hashed out a quick agreement.” He indicated Daniel Torre and Ann Grosst with a nod. “I figured that when she arrived we’d be ready to give her a united front.”

  “Mercado demanded to know what this was about,” Pedro said. “She wasn’t going to come down unless she knew. Once I mentioned that you’d gone into the Rift to see the artifact . . . let’s just say she was not happy.”

  “What exactly did she say?” Iliana asked.

  Pedro sighed. “I believe her exact words were ‘greatest blasphemy in the history of Quintana.’”

  This brought a groan from the chancellor. “So she said no and sent you back, and that’s it? That’s the end of our hopes?”

  “Worse than that,” Carbón said. “She’s coming down anyway. Now, in fact—I expect her any minute. I only hope she’s cooled off before she does. I’d rather not be pitched off the cliff.”

  “She can’t do that!” Iliana said.

  “Of course not. We’re not dumbre, after all. Though we may wish we were by the time she’s done with us. You know how she feels about the code.”

  “Damn your silly code,” Grosst said. “Call me a blasphemer if you want, but who the devil came up with this collection of idiocy in the first place?”

  “Lady Mercado is no friend of Naila’s, regardless of how much coin she donates to the temple,” Thiego said. “Mercado has never once brought offerings to the temple since Salvatore died. Not in person, anyway—it’s always been a lesser servant. She’s not happy with the way things have developed under Naila’s regime.”

  “It doesn’t particularly matter if Naila and Mercado are on good terms,” Carbón said. “Between them we have the head of the Luminoso and the richest, most influential member of the Quinta—we need at least one of them on our side. It’s not going to be Naila, so where does that leave us?”

  “So we have to convince Mercado somehow,” Iliana said. “How do you propose to do that?”

  “That’s what I was trying to work out when you showed up.”

  Thiego and Iliana’s arrival had thrown him off his thoughts, which had been spinning about without progress, but now that he turned his attention back to it, something occurred to him. He sized up Thiego, and suddenly realized that the young man had no idea who his mother was. It wasn’t because of Mercado’s anger at the Luminoso that she hadn’t personally appeared at the temple steps with her offerings. It was because she’d learned he was a master cabalist, and didn’t want to face her son and the shameful secret that burned her with guilt and regret.

  And that gave him an idea. Something to give them an edge. By the Elders, it felt manipulative, but there was no holding back now.

  “Thiego,” he said. “Go onto the porch and pull the doors shut behind you. Wait outside until I call you in.”

  “Wouldn’t it be better if I’m present when Mercado arrives? I’ll explain my doubts about Naila’s authority, and how the rest of the Luminoso does not agree with her thoughts about the arrival of the Fourth Plenty.”

  “No, I’ve got a better idea. Wait outside, then come in after we’ve already spoken to Mercado and tried to cool down her rage.”

  Thiego glanced at Iliana, who shrugged, and then back to Carbón with eyebrows raised. “Can you at least tell me why?”

  “Not yet, no. It’s better if you don’t have an advantage over Lady Mercado. Trust me on this, please.”

  The cabalist started to protest again, and there was enough doubt on the other four faces that Carbón began to question whether his idea had merit. He was about to explain his thinking after all when boots sounded in the hallway outside the Torre library, where the doors were still open. Thiego turned without another word and hurried onto the terrace.

  He’d just pulled the doors shut when Lady Mercado entered the room with a sweep of her cape. Her hair was unpinned and spilling to her shoulders, and she wasn’t wearing her chain of office, as if she’d left home in a hurry. A cold, suspicious expression had settled onto her face. Mota, the head of her guard, came in after her. His face was grim, and he wore a pistol on his right hip and a sword on his left.

  Carbón remembered the morning Mota had thrown Rodi over the cliff and wondered if he’d been right to dismiss Pedro’s suggestion that they call in the Torre servants to keep Mercado’s guards in check.

  No, better not take that path. This could not be a confrontation. Somehow Carbón needed to turn the woman to their side.

  Mercado took in the room with a glance and turned a hard gaze on Carbón. “So. I suppose you were behind this.”

  He nodded. “I take full responsibility.”

  “So you’re prepared to answer for your blasphemy?”
>
  Iliana moved quickly to Carbón’s side. “I went in the Rift, too. I knew what I was doing when I went down.”

  Lady Mercado gave her a withering glance. “Don’t deceive yourself, girl. You’d have done nothing without Carbón’s approval. You are his tool, nothing more, and be grateful for it, too.”

  Iliana thrust out her chin. “I was fully aware of what I was doing, and I’d do it again, too.”

  Daniel looked like he wanted to hide under his father’s table, but Pedro moved past Mota’s wary, hostile gaze to stand with Iliana.

  “I didn’t go into the Rift,” the younger cousin said, “but I knew they were going down, and I agreed with it.”

  “You, be quiet.”

  Pedro shook his head. “I won’t, and I don’t suggest you try to fight Carbón and the Torre family at the same time.”

  Grosst remained seated, though she had the good sense to lower her injured foot to the floor rather than keep it propped up. “Or start a war with Basdeen.”

  “Stay out of this, foreigner,” Mercado said. “Or we will have trouble.”

  “There’s not going to be a war,” Carbón said wearily. “Or trouble, unless you make it. That’s not what this is about. I didn’t enter the Rift on a whim—there were reasons, and if you’ll let me explain—”

  “Oh, you mean the scheme to bring about the Fourth Plenty? You think that’s your responsibility? You, as an uninitiated? That somehow the code would ever permit anyone but the Luminoso to make that determination?”

  Iliana tried to answer, but Carbón held up a hand to stop her. Let the others remain silent. Let the full responsibility fall on him to either convince Mercado, or not.

  “I respect the code, I always have,” he said carefully. “And I honor the Luminoso’s role in preserving the knowledge of the Elders. But today the Luminoso is run by Naila Roja—she cares nothing about the code. And what is the code, anyway? It isn’t some holy writ bestowed by the Elders, it’s a collection of traditions accumulated over the years, not all of them good or wise. And not permanent, either.”

  “You know less than you think.” Mercado looked more stubborn than ever. “Those traditions have protected the Quinta, protected the Luminoso, and protected this city for hundreds of years. Throw away the code and the dumbre would burn this city to the ground by morning. What little we’ve preserved would be gone. The collapse would be total and permanent.”