“I have had it, Raseari.” Her voice rose with every word. Everyone’s eyes went to the two of them. Kella inched backwards, trying her best to remove herself from the confrontation.
“Maybe the sword just got jostled around when we lifted the wagon?” suggested Pahlo, doing his best to diffuse the situation. “It could have fallen behind the shelves. I’ll help you look.”
“That’s enough, Dirin!” she barked, and Pahlo jumped in surprise. “I know exactly where it is! She threw it into the lake to save her own ass.” She turned her attention back to Oleja, eyes wide and lips drawn tight. “And now you are going to go back there and retrieve it. Maybe if we’re all lucky you’ll suck in some water while you’re down there!”
“Casmia, enough!” shouted Hylde. “If she threw the sword into the water, it was an accident and nothing more. Do not speak to her as if her death would be a blessing to you.”
Casmia stood in silence for a moment, surveying the rest of them each in turn. Her eyes fell on Oleja last.
“I am going to ride out and scout ahead,” she said, her voice quieter now but just as sharp. “I need the air.” She climbed atop a horse and rode off without another word, but just before her departure she gave Oleja one final look. Something shone in her eyes that Oleja didn’t like. Something had changed.
It struck fear in her.
Chapter Fourteen
Quite to Oleja’s dismay, she was the one on watch when Casmia returned.
The hour grew late; her watch came second after Jeth’s. The sound of hooves on the sand drew steadily nearer, but she did not look. She knew who approached.
Thankfully, Casmia seemed to have exactly as much desire to talk to Oleja as Oleja had to talk to her. She disappeared into her tent without a word.
After Oleja’s watch wound to a close, she woke Hylde and retired to her tent. Lying down at last atop the blanket that separated her from the ground provided a great relief, and sleep did not dawdle in its arrival.
She was up again at first light. Casmia seemed perfectly happy to ignore the previous night’s quarrels as she chatted with the rest of the group over breakfast, though none could deny her curtness with Oleja. Oleja expected nothing less—quite honestly, she was surprised Casmia regarded her in any way at all.
They set off soon after, watching the towers grow steadily closer on the horizon. They cast great shadowed streaks upon the land in the light of the low morning sun. The size of the structures grew more and more impressive the closer they got, and soon they blotted out the clear blue sky as the group traded shrubs and clumps of dried grass for the crumbled remains of buildings. The ruins started out low and squat like those they had seen before, but the deeper into the town they got, the taller they became.
Buildings in this town were only in slightly less disrepair than those in the others they’d passed through. The smaller structures lay in the same familiar state of rubble. Scanning through the remains, Oleja concluded that in their prime, stone and wood and other such materials made up the buildings, but there seemed to be a heavier emphasis on metal as a building material compared to the other ruins. The towers stood even further apart from the norm, displaying a different style of construction. Even as they remained at a distance, Oleja could tell that they were built sturdier—they had to be in order to hold up what must have amounted to a village’s worth of weight above their foundations. Huge metal beams larger around than Oleja’s own body rose up, rusted and corroding but still holding firm. Stone adorned the sides in some places, but it grew sparser on the higher floors. Much of the sides were reduced to open ledges at each floor—windows, once, if Oleja guessed correctly. In a few openings, a faint glittering rimmed the edges, possibly indicating the remains of glass panes.
Glass was not a common material back in her village. In most cases, residents omitted it as an addition to their windows in favor of wide openings through which as much air could enter as possible. Spending their days in the mines, the people of the village liked to get fresh air when they could. Glass panes found a home in the windows of the food storage rooms, where keeping bugs out was a must, as well as certain areas for the sick where they blocked the dusty sand kicked up by an army of miners passing through the street, protecting the fragile lungs of the sick within. Oleja had also come across her fair share of encounters with glass while sifting through The Heap. It provided an ever-present threat to her exposed skin, always seeming to find the perfect place to bite when she let her guard down and reached blindly into a crevice in the mound of scrap. Seeing indication that the material found regular use here struck her as odd. After creating such an immense and impressive tower, why block the windows off and keep the air out?
Many of the larger towers were in decent shape, though luck didn’t favor others so fondly. Scattered throughout the ruins lay evidence that such a structure had met its demise somewhere in the past. Long ridges of metal columns and boulder-sized chunks of rubble rose up in snaking heaps impossible to cross with the wagon and horses in tow. Such walls were not excessive in number, though the few that cut through the ruins turned the terrain maze-like.
The area over which the ruins stretched was even more immense than the towers were tall. While one could pass through the other ruined towns from one end to the other in around an hour, the party walked through the maze of rubble for the same amount of time and Oleja guessed they had yet to reach the center.
Casmia called a halt amidst a clearing in the rubble. Stone bricks comprised the ground underfoot, dusted with a layer of small wispy sand dunes that shifted beneath their feet. Columns rose up in a semicircle. Oleja slowed and pretended to admire one as the rest of the group congregated in the middle.
“We will leave the wagon here. This is our meeting place for sundown,” said Casmia, giving the same speech she seemed to give at every new location. “Jeth, you’re with Gleathon. Onet, with Dirin. Hylde…”
Oleja didn’t stick around to hear any more. She had her own work to do, for which she needed to go off alone. The party had an odd number of members anyway—everyone could still work with a partner even if she went out by herself. It didn’t matter that much. And besides, she had no chance of redeeming herself in Casmia’s eyes anymore. She slipped around behind the column and then off down a narrow passage between two walls. On the other side, she broke into a jog and made for the center of the ruins where the towers clustered in the greatest number.
Now that she could see them up close and get a better sense for their height, she knew without question that the tallest among them would rise up out of the canyon and then several hundred feet beyond. One of the towers in particular caught her attention, and not only because it stood the tallest. Three pillars of stone braced the sides in a triangle, though constructed so they curved inwards as they reached for the halfway point, then back out as they stretched along the upper half. The pillars retained a decent condition, though some portions looked to be of questionable integrity. Between them, at the heart of the tower, was the main body of the structure. Stone walls chipped away, leaving gaping holes through which she spied a staircase of stone and metal alongside other twisted beams and debris. At the top, a circular metal hull rested atop the pillars. The whole tower rose up out of a mound of stone and what looked to be the remains of a sagging building, still impossibly tall yet looking hunched beside the structure amidst its remains.
She couldn’t help but sway her feet towards it. Not in her entire lifetime could she imagine building something so massive. It was incredible.
As she gravitated towards the tower, she passed something else that caught her eye. The remains of a building, now reduced to rubble just the same as those around it, sat squashed between two larger crumbling structures to either side. The rough shape of three walls stood intact, though the fourth and the ceiling they held aloft looked less like a wall and a ceiling and more like overburden from the mines. Buried beneath them, with only a corner visible, poked one of the metal machines that perple
xed her. Though they littered the world with no great rarity—in fact, they seemed to be just about everywhere—this one, buried under the remains of the ceiling, looked to be in fair condition. After a bit of digging and shoving aside larger chunks of debris, she found her assumptions to be correct—but also that the thing was in far better condition than expected.
Her excavation efforts revealed a crevice just big enough for her to squeeze through. Deeper inside the ruined building, the roof still clung to the standing walls, leaving an open space that remained untouched by the collapsing ceiling. She crawled inside to the long-lost room beyond. Craters pocked the machine’s front half, scars left over from the collapse of the roof above it, and rust leeched out in rings from those blemishes, but beyond that it seemed to have minimal corrosion, and the back portion remained free of dents. Faded blue paint covered parts of the surface, though it took blowing off a thick layer of dust and sand to see it. Some of the machines she had come across retained shards of glass around the openings, never anything more, but a full pane filled the largest open section of this one with only minimal cracking as damage. Inside ran rows of what looked like chairs.
She brushed her hand along the surface of the metal. A handle adorned the side, and she tugged on it—gently at first, but when that offered no reward, she pulled harder. A large panel on the side groaned as it swung outwards a few inches, then with a loud crack it came off in her hand. The unexpected weight pulled her down, but she righted herself and looked inside. Deep earthy smells found her nose. She leaned through the opening.
A rough, cracked padding covered the chairs—leather, she realized after a moment. She pulled out her knife and began carving strips from the seatback. Leather would make much finer straps for her glider than the coarse rope of her previous version.
Back outside the machine, she scanned the rest of the room. Tools leaned against the wall in the corner. Rows of warped shelves filled the back wall, many broken, spilling their contents down onto the shelf below and the floor. Odds and ends covered what remained of the shelves, and though she couldn’t name most of the contents, Oleja approached the assortment and surveyed the mess. To many of the items she gave little more than a glance. Some she picked up, examined, but ultimately tossed into the corner after seeing their uselessness on full display. She hefted a rusted metal box-like contraption into her hands and flipped it over. Rattling parts clattered together inside, creaking as they shifted, stretching in their first chance to move for generations. Knowing not what to do with such an item, Oleja cast it aside into the growing heap of discarded things.
When it struck the floor, the box burst apart, launching bits of shrapnel out in every direction, though none carried the force to wound her. Oleja looked down at the weak box, destroyed by so little force. But just as quickly as she lost interest in the thing, that interest returned, rolling across the floor in the form of a single small spring.
Oleja picked it up and tested the resistance. It was nowhere near strong enough to serve as one of the springs in her glider limbs, but she could use it for the release mechanism, for which it would serve perfectly. She knelt and inspected the carcass of the shattered box to find a second spring, which she also took. After another quick perusal of the room, she grabbed her things and headed out.
Back outside, she returned to her path for the tower. She unhooked the body of her glider from where she’d bound it to the side of her tinkering bag and hefted it up under one arm. She had all of the pieces she needed; now it was only a matter of getting it all put together.
At the base of the tower, she looked up. Vertigo swayed her on her feet. The mound of rubble surrounding the tower was nothing compared to The Heap, and she prepared to climb it in order to reach the tower’s base before realizing that the other side of the structure stood exposed. The stone wall along the ground was intact and impenetrable, but up a few feet the stone split along a crack and an opening led inside to a landing on the staircase. If she jumped, she could just catch the lip of the ledge with her fingers. Doing so, she managed to haul herself up and enter the tower.
The staircase inside had seen better days—but then again, so had everything they encountered in the ruins. Metal made up the frame and railing, while the stairs themselves were stone. Cracks and missing chunks left only the lattice frame in some spots, making it a trickier climb—one where she watched her step with careful attention to avoid losing a foot or the rest of the life attached to it. Echoes wafted up and down the stairwell in some spots, though most of the time the open and crumbling walls swallowed up the sound.
At around the fifth or sixth story, she came upon a landing where the surrounding walls had fallen away entirely. She sat cross-legged on the floor there and set her glider out in front of her. A gentle breeze swept in through the open hole in the wall. She smiled to herself.
The frame was finished; the arms and hinges swung out freely, no longer scraping on the body of the device. Except for the addition of the springs, the release mechanism sat nicely in place and functioned properly. All the glider needed now were the springs, straps, and the fabric wings to finish it off.
First came the springs. Each fit into place smoothly as she attached them in turn. The work came with its share of struggles—each slip of her fingers resulted in the spring leaping from its spot. A few times, one of them nearly sailed straight over the ledge and into the pile of rubble below, but fortunately she kept the runaways corralled every time. With all of the springs in place, she pulled the cord. Both arms sprung outwards with great force and snapped into place. Perfect.
Next came the straps. The leather made a much finer addition, better than the itchy rope that burned her shoulders. She lined up one of the shoulder straps and fastened it down, then lifted it to test it out. It fit snugly, if a bit too much so. No great issue—she could loosen it.
A whistle cut through the air as something struck the metal railing next to her. The sound reverberated through the stairwell. A crossbow bolt clattered to the floor.
Oleja’s heartbeat paused as she saw the dart lying there on the floor, then raced to make up for lost time. She ducked low and looked out through the hole in the wall. A moment of scanning the ground showed nothing, but then she saw him.
Honn.
He crouched amidst the rubble, taking cover behind a huge arced piece of metal. His armor glinted in the sunlight, and with his helmet visor raised, she saw his face clearly. A look of amusement played on his features. The two of them locked eyes.
When she saw him, he leapt up and raced across the uneven ground. At the base of the tower, he jumped and vanished from view. Oleja could no longer see him, but she could hear him. His thick-soled boots struck the metal and stone stairs below her, sending echoes up the chamber. And then he began to climb.
Oleja had all of her belongings in her arms within seconds. With her bag and bow over her shoulder, quiver on her back, and her glider in her arms, she bolted up the stairs.
There was only one way down. One staircase, and she shared it with Honn. It was fight or die.
No—it was fight, die, or jump. She had her glider, she just needed to finish it. But on what surface? Sprinting full-speed up a broken staircase while pursued by a bloodthirsty eclipser hunter did not create the calm environment she needed in order to concentrate and build a device to gamble her life on the functionality of. Besides, it still needed three more straps and the entire fabric sail.
Well, it was that or die. Die and never free her people from the canyon, never be the hero, never return to prove to Ude that she lived past her escape.
She held the body of the glider out in front of her with one arm and pulled a leather strap from her bag with the other hand. Loud footsteps pounded on the stairs below. With one finger, she held the strap in place, and then drew a nail and her hammer from her bag. Shifting her fingers, she got the nail in place, and took up the hammer with her full grip. Two swift strikes sunk the nail into the wood, though her fingers were not spa
red from the blow. She shook off the pain; more pressing matters loomed behind her. If Honn caught up to her, he’d do more than tap her fingers with a hammer.
She put another nail through the top of the strap and then did the same to the bottom. Shoddy work, but it would probably hold her in flight. It had to.
“Canyon girl!” Honn bellowed from below. “Where do you expect to run to? You have nowhere to go!” He sounded closer than she’d anticipated—a flight or two down and no more.
She reached a landing and found a large chunk of rubble blocking part of the next leg of stairs. The gap provided just enough room for her to squeeze through, but she paused for half a second as an idea formed in her brain.
Bracing herself on the wall, she used her leg to shake the stone. It wobbled back and forth, and then leaned. With one huge shove she sent it toppling from the ledge and down the staircase. It bounced off the first set of stairs and slammed into the one below it, taking a bite out of the stone and metal framework, which collapsed into the level below. Honn howled. It sounded like he had been struck. Oleja didn’t stick around to find out.
Honn’s thunderous footfalls returned a moment later, though his gait had changed. Injured now, and slower, though he kept coming with a fierce speed. But any scrap of time she could amass was well worth it.
Oleja let one arm of the glider extend out in front of her. She pulled the fabric from her bag. Right now, that was the most important element of the device. She’d finish the leg straps if time stayed on her side.
Using the same awkward maneuvers as before, she slowly began fixing the fabric to the arm. Every slip of her fingers—every mistake—only frustrated her more. It was not working. She needed a surface to work on.
Her legs ached as she pushed herself faster. She took the steps two at a time, careful to avoid the pitfalls of the ancient stairs. One wrong step and she could lose her lead on the eclipser, falling right into his grasp and, likely, the wrong end of his blade. She ignored the protests from her legs and kept going, adrenaline fueling her bounds up to the tower’s pinnacle.
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