“This is your fault,” he spat. “If you hadn’t gotten involved... Kiver would be dead! Everything would be as it should be!”
“Don’t you get it?” I shouted. “Adderley freed him. You’re the reason he’s here. If you hadn’t called him—”
Gold rushed forward. I knew what he planned. Saw it telegraphed in his run, in the way he held his shoulders, his arms. It was the same plan as my own, just with a different target.
I knew what needed to happen.
The dauger careened toward me. I leaned towards the city, pushing myself out from the platform and towards the floor of Level Nine. Gold hadn’t expected that, he tried to correct but stumbled past me. As he went by I threw myself into his back, pushing him forward, using our combined momentum to send him careening into Ashton’s chest.
“Wha—” the big creature said as we slammed into him. The two connected with a thump, and Ashton, still shifting, began to slip backwards, hanging out into the open air. The platform gave a long groan and then began to tip. Ashton’s claws scrambled for balance, scraping steel and digging into concrete.
“Get off me! Get off!” Ashton yelled. Gold scrambled and made a wet crying sound as he tried to untangle himself from the folds of flesh. His motion had the opposite effect, and the two slid back even farther.
I had to finish it.
I ran forward, allowing the tilt of the platform to aid my speed. Ashton and Gold both saw me coming. Two sets of eyes widened and two mouths cried out as they realized what I had planned. Gold tried to turn, but too late.
I gave them a good, solid kick, and we fell.
THIRTY
STEEL SQUEALED WITH A HORRIFIC MOAN, and the platform broke free below my feet. For a moment I was weightless. As the floor dropped away I half-leapt and half-fell towards a girder that had extended out just beyond the platform, scrambling to keep myself from joining Ashton and Gold on their fall.
Rebar tore at my arms and pierced the sleeve of my coat. Thankfully missing flesh. The girder slammed into my chest, the momentum whipping my head forward. The pain burst through me. I scrambled, feeling my stomach drop.
In a flash I could see my parents, I smelled the scent of tobacco and plum bread. I saw my mother returning home from a day at council, my father bending wood in his shop. I could see trails that I had walked, roaders I had known. I saw that dark tunnel below the city where I had faced Cybill, my first First. The crowded streets of Syringa and the torched remains of Methow. I saw Curwen burn. I saw Wensem laughing as he bounced his son on his knee and Hannah on the trail, hat pulled low, her sharp eyes scanning the horizon. I saw Hagen in his shop curiously inspecting a new arrival. I saw Samantha standing in a shattered window. Her eyes locked with mine. Samantha. Intelligent, fierce, tough-as-nails, beautiful Samantha. She had been next to me this whole time. She had fought at my side. I saw her curls blowing around her face. Saw her dark flashing eyes. The way she set her jaw.
My fingers wrapped around the edge of steel. I clung tight.
Ashton’s claw struck out, moving to grab me, trying desperately to pull me down. It met only air, and his face twisted at the realization. His ugly eyes narrowed, and his fleshy mouth opened, the wide features becoming a strange mix of horror and sheer hatred.
“No!” he bellowed as he tumbled backwards, his arms grasping at the air.
Then...
A part of him detached.
The human form seemed to pull from the monster’s chest. It leapt from the falling mass of flesh and landed atop a girder above me. He grinned down at me. He was naked now, as he had been in the pit, but it was him. Ashton in his human form. I must have looked puzzled, because he laughed, turning and walking along the length of the girder and onto Level Nine’s expansive structure.
I looked back down, not quite believing my eyes. He still fell. Below, the monstrous body tumbled through the air. I watched his arms careening around, the mouth open in a roar. His eyes wide and horrified. Gold had broken free of the creature but fell near him, his screams mixed with that of the First’s. But was it the First? I looked back toward Level Nine. The human avatar of Ashton stood, watching me. I blinked. He was still there.
I struggled and pulled myself onto the girder. Dragged myself away from the destruction and towards safety.
I heard a thwack and glanced down to see the beast strike the outstretched arm of a crane that extended from Level Five. Across from me the human Ashton groaned and gripped his shoulder. Below, the metal of the crane bent and twisted, the extended cables whipping violently. The crane’s arm broke and fell with them, tumbling end over end.
The remnants of the ancient city upon which Lovat had been built rested below the water. Jagged and twisted forms stabbed up below the surface. It threatened any who fell or attempted to dive into the brine. Even boats wouldn’t come too close to the city’s western edge for fear of tearing open their hulls.
Ashton would be torn apart. Wouldn’t he?
I struggled to my feet and moved to face the human form of Ashton. My breathing was heavy. My knee ached. My shirt was soaked with blood. Exhaustion had crept into my legs, my arms. My back hurt. As I straightened it let out a series of pops and the world around me shifted.
I was no longer standing on the edge of Level Nine. I was back in the wasteland, standing among the ruins. Yellow demonic faces peered out from behind the fallen monuments. The same damned vision as before, only this time I wasn’t alone. The human Ashton, now clothed in white robes stood across from me. He was bent slightly, and he looked older and he looked broken. One of his eyes was swollen shut and his skin was bruised. Blood trickled from the corner of his mouth. There were scrapes and gashes across his neck and face. He held one of his arms against his stomach. It was twisted strangely along the forearm.
Where we stood was different as well. It was still the wasteland—the flat tableland that extended away in all directions—but this time the city in the distance was much closer. The scent of death that drifted from its ruined levels and shattered towers was heavier. I could see tendrils of smoke the color of sun-bleached bone rise from its lower levels. Around its base I could see the pearly crash of waves as the sea ate at its foundations. And, as always, the monstrosity still moved in the distance. The immense thing, both horrific and indescribable, it moved somewhere beyond the sky.
Ashton followed my gaze and looked over his shoulder at the city.
“Your Lovat.”
“No,” I said. “Not my Lovat. We’re still standing in my Lovat.” That duality hadn’t left me. We might be speaking in the wasteland but we were still on Level Nine. I felt both the hard-packed dirt beneath my feet and the cold cement of the city. The warm dry wind of the desert and the sea-scented wind of the city. I could still hear the noise from the massive crowd, it blended with the howl of the wind across the empty hardpan.
Ashton laughed, but it was weak. Almost sad. It ended in a hacking cough. He looked around. “Are we?”
I looked down. The broken sun of the wasteland cast my shadow before me in two different directions. It was a strange and dizzying realization. Then I realized that there were more shadows cast on the ground.
I looked up, but saw nothing of the creatures that cast these shadows.
Ashton was flanked by four shadows, two on either side. The strange and terrible shadows of two twisted creatures were on his left. The shape on his immediate right was less shadow and more a blackened scorch, like something hot had burned into the earth. A pair of coyotes sat next to it, panting in the sun, looking confused and lost. Past the scorch mark was the fourth and final shadow, the image of a tall man draped in fabric. The shadow of cloth drifted softly in the wind, mimicking Ashton’s own garb.
“You’ve already met mother,” said Ashton, gesturing to the shadow closest to him. “You killed her avatar or else she’d be with us here. Her shadow lingers.”
I blinked at him, struggling to remember. Cybill? I had watched her get crushed but I had never se
en her human form. Had I?
“You know,” Ashton continued. “I went to find her. See if I could raise her. I found the collapse. Regretfully, I chose a poor form for aquatic work and Gold’s commands always had time limits.” He sneered at the dauger’s name and walked from Cybill’s shadow towards the scorch mark. “And you saw to my uncle as well.” One of the coyotes whined.
“How are you doing this?” I said.
“Doing what? Standing here? You brought me here, Guardian. Trust me, I’m not exactly enjoying this.” He winced, then coughed for punctuation.
“I watched you fall.”
“You watched my body fall, but we are much more than that. You should know by now... we can’t die. We can only be delayed.”
“But I killed you!” I shouted. Around us the wind whipped.
“Yes,” agreed Ashton. “Yes, you did. For now...”
Ashton sighed and wiped the blood from his mouth with his good arm. He scowled at his stained fingers.
“I have done my duty. I have said my piece. Let me wander, now, Guardian. I am merely the Herald.”
“The Herald for what?”
“You have a lot to learn, Guardian. Your predecessor was much sharper than you. She had known far more, far earlier.” Ashton clicked his tongue, turned and hobbled to the nameless shadow on his left. It moved, writhing against the ground like a black puddle stirred by the wind. He gestured to it. “He... is coming. Can’t you smell it on the wind?”
I inhaled, but only the scent of death from the city filled my nostrils. The smells from the other world, the other Lovat, were overpowered or blocked.
“And the other one?” I nodded towards the last shadow, the tall man draped in robes.
Ashton looked towards the shadow on the far side of the scorched space.
“A pretender. He is not of our bloodline, though his ambition... is great.” He hacked another cough.
I was growing tired of these non-answers. I had fought Ashton on the top of the city. Battled my way through a city on fire. Faced Gold and his cronies in that damned pit. I had even killed a would-be assassin. I was exhausted. I was tired. I couldn’t deal with this. Not anymore. My patience was worn out.
“Enough games, Ashton! Enough riddles!” I reached for my gun and felt it in the other Lovat, but not here in the wasteland.
Ashton shook his head and tried to laugh but winced instead. I could see spots of blood beginning to stain the white robes around his chest and belly. “Your weapon is useless here, as are your questions. You want to know about the failed usurper? Ask the dauger. They know far more than they let on.” He shook his head and then grimaced. “My job here is done. You’ve seen to that. But I haven’t failed. I have heralded, I have foretold, blah, blah, blah. Now... I am tired.”
“And him?” I motioned with my chin to the thing on the horizon.
Ashton looked over his shoulder. “He’s the reason for all of this. You see but a shadow, Guardian. But you’ll see him soon enough.”
“Who is that?”
“He is the first of Firsts.” He paused, looked at me. His eyes cold. His expression serious. “My grandfather.”
The thing on the horizon writhed and the sky wavered before it. Then it moaned. It was a low sound, organic and wet. It shook the floor of the wasteland. It trumpeted through the sky. I felt it in both worlds, in Lovat and in the wasteland. It was louder, more destructive than Curwen’s moans on the Broken Road. The bones of the ruined Lovat swayed.
The first of Firsts. That was what I was hearing. That was the thing that stretched the sky. A shiver traveled along my spine, and I felt my mouth go dry in both realities.
“Enough prattle. Look west, Guardian. The High Priest comes and on his heels... a new Aligning.”
He stared at me with his unswollen eye. Where before he had been young, over the course of this conversation he had changed. He had grown old and frail. He was no longer the hearty human man I had seen in the Shangdi. He wasn’t the creature that had carried Gold through the upper reaches of the city. He was an old man. An old frail man.
“This isn’t over,” I said.
“For me, it is. I might be around for a few years still, but...” He waved a hand behind me. When I turned I saw the edge of the city, not the wasteland. The platform was gone, the girder I had climbed upon still twisted. Thick clouds were forming against the gunmetal sky. When I turned back, we were back in the wasteland among the ruins. “I am out of the game,” he said. “My part has been played. I’m trapped in your forsaken city, in this form...”
He coughed, spat blood and frowned.
“So I’ll be seeing you again?” I narrowed my eyes.
Ashton smiled a pained smile. “Perhaps. Perhaps not.”
Two gargoyles materialized beside him, wrapped their arms around his. He leaned into them, a wounded old general being aided by his soldiers at the end of a battle.
I couldn’t let him get away.
“No!” I stepped forward, reached out to grab him. I had to stop him.
Ashton smiled weakly.
Then I woke up.
THIRTY-ONE
A COLD RAIN BROUGHT ME BACK TO CONSCIOUSNESS. I lay on my back staring up at black clouds blowing above me. The memories of my discussion with Ashton had already begun to fade as I struggled to comprehend where I was, how I got here, and what I was doing.
“H–hello?” I called out, shocked at how weak my voice sounded.
No one answered.
I half-expected to hear a gargoyle titter or to see a long narrow hood appear, to feel its fist punch through my body like it was soft butter.
But I was alone.
I struggled to rise, pushing myself up from the floor of Level Nine. I stood shakily.
Rain fell around me, drenching me, soaking my shredded winter coat and my long hair and beard. It dripped off me and pooled around my feet. It had warmed somewhat, but the rain made me shiver.
This wasn’t a win and I knew it. But it didn’t seem to be a clear loss, either. For now Ashton was defeated. But was he out of the picture forever? What had he said? “You should know by now... we can’t die. We can only be delayed.”
No, it didn’t feel like a win. A stalemate... maybe.
I looked around. I saw nothing. Rain-soaked towers and the half-finished foundations of a new level. I was utterly alone.
The distant shouts and cries still floated on the wind from the direction of Paramount Square. An orange glow from the north-east told me the Breakers still fought for control of the city. I hoped they’d win. Lovat needed a civic rebirth. The core had rotted through. A change would do this city good.
I turned and looked westward. Ashton had said look west, and I looked. I saw only the vast stretch of darkening ocean, the water reflecting the Rosalia Mountains and nothing more.
I took a deep breath. I closed my eyes and breathed. Finally, I moved, each step a cascade of pain. Each footfall sending vibrations up my core. I felt each puncture, each gash, and each bruise as I walked. I kept at it, plodding south. Level Nine had lifts—two, actually—one to the north and another in the south. They were gleaming and expensive things, express lifts, inlaid with precious metals and festooned with cushioned seats. Guided by haughty conductors with sharp tailored suits and pencil-thin mustaches.
I pushed the call button and forced the lira into the conductor’s hand and ignored her worried glances as the doors slid upward. I was alone in the lift. Warm air from its heaters blew upon me, warming my damp skin and waking me up slightly.
“Where to?” the conductor asked with a sneer. She was human, dark skinned, with pale blue eyes—a rarity among our kind. She looked down her sharp nose at me, her thin lips drawn and bloodless.
“Level Four,” I said, and then added a laugh that turned into a cough.
The conductor rolled her eyes and turned her back to me, clearly disgusted by the ruffian who stumbled into her exclusive Level Nine lift.
I slumped into a padded cha
ir and felt my spine pop. I rolled my shoulders and grimaced, realizing the pain I’d be facing over the next few days. I leaned my head forward and watched the blood drip onto the floor of the lift as the conductor punched the button and the lift descended, dropping towards Level Four and into the heart of King Station.
“This is becoming rote,” I said to myself.
I looked down, took in my wounds. My jeans were stained with blood above the right knee. My left side felt tender and my left arm was numb with pain. I had been cut, scraped, bashed, stabbed, sliced, and skewered, and yet here I was, still marching on.
I leaned back, staring up at the mirrored ceiling and closed my eyes. The final verse of Pops’ old song sprung back to mind:
...I want six boneshooters to be pallbearers.
And a chorus girl to sing a song.
Stick a big jazz band on my hearsewain.
Raise hell as I stroll along.
I sighed. Not today.
THIRTY-TWO
THE INTERIOR OF CEDRIC’S WAS COZY. The clatter of forks and knives, mixed with the soft murmur of conversation, created a cheery din. Delicious scents wafted from the kitchen, making my stomach growl and my mouth water. I sat down gently next to Hagen and across from Wensem, trying not to wince despite the bright flash of pain from my leg. I was sure Hagen had noticed.
It had been a couple of weeks since all the business with Ashton and the riots. The wounds were healing, but dropping into a wooden booth wasn’t exactly comfortable yet.
“See this?” asked Wensem, sliding a copy of the Lovat Ledger across the table and tapping the front page. In black letters the headline read: CZANEK OUT. ELECTIONS IN. It had been a long time coming, and with the riot, I was surprised it took this long to finally get him out.
I looked up at Wensem’s scowl. My partner’s long face looked particularly long today. The lines around his mouth drooped and the bags beneath his gray-blue eyes seemed heavier this morning. Kitasha, his wife, had told me he had slept only fitfully since returning from the blockade, and that he spent most nights tossing and turning. It showed.
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