The Forgotten City

by Nina D'Aleo

  As he stared down into the shimmering green, Ev’r’s words on dark magics came back to him – Any symbol can be used for good or evil depending on who is using it. It’s not what the symbol is – it’s what it can be in your hands. They intended harm – you intended help and your intention behind that particular symbol was stronger than theirs. It’s a fundamental of magics.

  He was no wielder of magics, but the green diamond had saved him once before – and his intention to help Ismail was suffocatingly strong. He held the diamond up, summoned all his strength, then threw it at the chains, crying out, “Break!” The green gem bounced off and rolled into the dirt. The chains remained intact. Eli scrambled for the diamond and grabbed it back up. That hadn’t gone as hoped, and Eli sensed time was starting to turn on them. The flame torches were flickering, the shadows creeping closer. The witch was returning.

  Eli shut his eyes, searching it for answers. Ev’r spoke from his memories: Skreaf magics are based on symbols.

  But what did the diamond symbol mean? In the desert that day he’d thrown his pendant at the Skreaf and yelled “Stop”. It had blocked them from attacking … blocked them … an idea took root and sprouted. Without pausing, he grabbed up his cutters and snipped the chain again. With super-speed he jammed the diamond between the two chain links before they could reconnect. The cut part of the chain started snaking about, desperately seeking a way back to the link, but the diamond was blocking it.

  Eli let out a cry. “We’ve done it!”

  He snatched some tape from his belt and bound the diamond firmly onto the end of the chain that was still attached to the manacle around Ismail’s leg.

  He started to try to haul Ismail into a sitting position, but then he heard scuffling behind him and his heart seized in his chest. He forced himself to turn and look. A tidal wave of relief crashed over him. Luther stood watching them with his python eyes, the shadows obscuring half his face. Moses appeared beside him, sniffing the air. He stood very rigid with his coat bristling, ears back, and the whites of his eyes flashing wildly. The wolf spotted the scullion man and his ears came forward. He made a small whining sound.

  “Luther, help me get him out of here!” Eli cried out.

  Luther gave a quick nod and used Cos magics to form a wind platform to propel them out of the grave.

  As soon as they were out, Ismail’s eyes flicked open, the curse to keep him sleeping broken. He gave a strangled gasp, one hand clutching his chest.

  “He’s going into cardiac arrest!” Eli said.

  According to Ev’r’s journal, Ismail had died from a stab wound to the heart. Eli ripped open Ismail’s shirt, the material aged and rotten. He grabbed a syringe off his belt filled with a formula mixed to inhibit the body’s natural stress response. The physiological process was different across races, but the formula was a good all-round mix that he’d discovered while doing a study into enhancing soldier concentration and accuracy during training and missions. It would slow the rate of Ismail’s heart. He bit the cap off, spitting it away, then injected it into Ismail’s arm. It had an immediate reaction, the scullion’s body relaxing and his breathing coming easier.

  Eli grabbed an oxygen vial off his belt and tried to attach it to Ismail’s mouth, but the scullion swiped it away deliriously, his eyes rolling. He stared around at them, disorientated. A deep growl rumbled in his throat and Moses came forward, sniffing his face and whining softly. Seeing the wolf, Ismail’s hostility melted away. He reached out a shaking hand to Moses and as he touched the wolf’s white fur, he made a sound of shock.

  “Real,” he murmured, but then he jolted away. “She’s coming,” he rasped. “She’s here.”

  Eli heard the thud behind them and his muscles froze. He didn’t want to look. He really didn’t. Beside him, Moses bared his teeth in a silent, savage snarl. Eli braced himself and looked.

  The Mocking Witch stood there with a jug of water in one hand. She turned her hooded head one way and then the other, sensing something was wrong, but not knowing exactly what.

  “My love?” she hissed and Ismail cringed. Her attention darted his way. She dropped the jug and it shattered.

  “No!” she screamed, blasting them with a surge of stinking air. Eli drew his electrifier and started firing, getting off only a few shots before the witch hissed an enchant that ripped the weapon out of his grasp. She started to curse again. Ismail cried out.

  Eli heard a clatter from above them and looked up to the ledge. Flintlock stood there beside Diamond, holding a boulder above her head. She hurled it down onto the witch, who used an enchant to break straight through it. Flintlock released a sonic roar that trembled the cave. She dropped down off the ledge and smashed the witch with her massive spiked club. The impact ripped the witch’s rot-weakened flesh to pieces, but she re-formed in midair and doubled back whole. She tried to curse Flintlock, but was hampered by Diamond throwing what looked like a small metal square at her feet. On impact it unfolded and kept unfolding into a huge shield.

  “Grab him!” Eli shouted to Flintlock as he tried to heave Ismail to his feet.

  The giant lunged in and hoisted the scullion man onto her shoulders. She started to climb back up to the ledge, but the witch broke through Diamond’s shield and sent a curse that ripped her back down. Luther flared up, bringing the ceiling crashing on top of the witch’s head, completely burying her. She struggled to break out, but he held her with Cos enchants, mouthing to Eli, “Go!’ Moses stood at Luther’s side, snarling at the shuddering pile of rocks.

  “Go!” Luther mouthed again.

  Eli nodded. Luther could dematerialize, but Eli had no such skill – if he stayed, he’d be dead. He flew up beside Flintlock, who was climbing again and had almost reached the ledge. Diamond grabbed the giant’s hand to help her over, getting in the way and actually slowly her down, but finally they were up.

  Flintlock broke into a run, with Ismail slung over her shoulder and groaning in pain. They couldn’t stop to help him; they just pushed on as fast as they could run and fly. The walls quaked around them, distorted screams howled behind and Eli searched ahead for the outside light, but the darkness seemed never-ending. Finally, when they’d already been running for far longer than he remembered taking on the way in, he saw a glowing spark in the distance.

  “We’re almost there!” he yelled to Diamond and Flintlock and they sped up their pace.

  The spark grew bigger and brighter so quickly Eli soon realized it wasn’t proportional to how fast they were moving – it was as though the light was traveling toward them as well. Except light didn’t move unless it was —

  “Fire!” Eli yelled. “It’s fire. Stop!”

  Lava Diavol translated into Urigin as demon mouth and Eli could now feel why – the heat propelling toward them was blinding even from this distance.

  “The witch must have somehow blocked the entrance,” Eli panted. He heard a curse hiss through the air around them and the shadows suddenly grew arms, trying to drag Ismail away from Flintlock, away from the fire and back to the witch. Flintlock battled to hold him as he gasped in pain, stretched between the two forces. Eli looked back; behind them the darkness was mutating, forming into an army of staggering, lurching figures. They couldn’t go back. They couldn’t go forward. Eli dropped to his knees, his eyes stinging from the heat of the fire. He grabbed a handful of burrowing drills from his pocket and a blast grenade. He bound them all together, set the timer for five seconds and threw the bundle up into the jagged ceiling. The burrowers set to work, sinking deeply into the rock. The shadow golems had reached Flintlock and were threatening to drag her down; the fire was looming, roaring, burning. Diamond held her face and screamed – a long high-pitched note. It was an excruciatingly long five seconds. Then a blast rocked the cave tunnel and Eli pushed Diamond aside as rocks crashed down where she’d been standing. Sunslight streamed down onto their faces. Eli fired the anchor hook from his zip gun and felt it find purchase above.

  “Flintlock
!” He threw the zip gun to her and she grabbed it, triggering the recoil. The pressure yanked her off her feet and upward into the escape tunnel, Ismail clutched in one arm. Diamond and Eli launched after her, flying fast as the fire collided with the shadows just behind them. The witch’s scream chased them all the way through the darkness until they burst out into the desert.

  As they did, an evil voice hissed, “I’ll find you, my love … I’ll always find you.”

  It immediately took first place as the creepiest thing Eli had ever heard, but he didn’t pause to ponder.

  The group crashed down the mountain to the desert sand, and Eli spun back to search for signs of Luther, only to find the mountain gone – vanished. Above them the suns had almost merged and the sand had started to smoke and catch alight.

  “Run!” Eli shouted and they raced through the fiery air toward the Gypsy Rose parked in the distance. The more they ran and flew, the further away it seemed to be, the sand itself seeming to be dragging them backward, the deceptive magics of the Matadori conspiring against them. One of Eli’s boots burst into flames and as he hopped around trying to take it off, he realized his error. He grabbed the transflyer flash out of his pocket and shouted into it, “Engage autopilot, emergency pick-up mode!”

  Immediately the Gypsy Rose burst to life, launching into the air and shooting toward them. It swooped in low and maneuvered sideways, the top of the craft opening like a mouth and scooping them up as it zoomed through. Eli slammed into the back of the cabin where the seat should have been. He groaned in pain, then Flintlock smashed down beside him, Diamond on top of her. Ismail lay between them, unresponsive, his eyes glazed.

  The Gypsy Rose leveled off in the air and waited for further pilot input.

  “Diamond!” Eli said, struggling upright. “Can you …”

  “Fly?” Diamond cut in. She scrambled over into the pilot’s seat and kicked the transflyer up to top speed so quickly that Eli hit the windscreen and bounced back. He managed to collect himself and unzipped the pocket for Nelly to get out. She lifted her head up, looked around, then ducked straight back in. Eli spread Ismail out between himself and Flintlock. The scullion’s eyes were scrunched tight shut and he was groaning in pain and coughing, the same deep unwholesome sound rattling inside him. Eli examined Ismail’s chest. It was all scar. He’d suffered devastating injury around his heart, and there were dark magic symbols there too, etched deeply into his skin. Eli took out his stethoscope and listened to the scullion’s heart. The beat was way too fast and extremely odd, and as he listened, he eyed the scars – it actually looked as if he’d had a transplant. Ismail writhed in agony, his breathing becoming more labored and erratic, and Eli was afraid full coronary arrest was imminent. He made a quick decision and unclipped the He-Ro, one of the robotic hearts he’d designed, from his belt. The team used them on heart attack and heart trauma victims.

  “I’m swapping functioning of your heart to an external source,” he quickly explained to Ismail, though he wasn’t sure the scullion could hear him through the pain. He positioned the He-Ro over Ismail’s chest and activated it. The unit injected its instant aesthetic, then attached hard against the skin and plunged its lines down, linking up with all the arteries of the heart. It clamped them and took over from Ismail’s internal heart.

  The scullion’s body relaxed and he lay gasping, staring up at the transflyer roof with weeping eyes, the sunslight painfully bright for him after so long in darkness. He stared over at Flintlock and then Eli, started to try to speak, and then passed out cold.

  “Master Eli, this man is very dangerous,” Flintlock said, leaning close. “Leave him here in the desert.”

  “I can’t leave him, Flintlock,” Eli said, working fast, putting an oxygen mask over Ismail’s face and injecting doses of fast-acting healing and regenerative agents into him. “He’s a friend of a friend. We have to try to help him.”

  He continued to treat the tormented man while Diamond sped them through the desert, singing loudly with stress, some terribly rude song about underwear. When Eli had administered everything he could, including some more anaesthetic to keep the scullion under for a while so that the other medications could take faster effect, he stared down at Ismail’s gaunt, pale face, a ghost of the strong, young man from the sketches in Ev’r’s book. Ismail and Ev’r had been torn apart, then reunited, then she’d watched him die … and now he was here and she was gone. Fate had dealt them a very cruel hand indeed – or maybe not. Maybe this was fate stepping in to give them another chance. If Eli could just keep him alive for long enough to bring Ev’r back, they could be reunited … Eli imagined it for a moment, the look on Ev’r’s face, but then the image melted into her becoming the Ravien. He shook the thought away, his mind going to Luther. He couldn’t believe they’d left him and Moses alone to fight the witch, but there just hadn’t been another choice. He murmured a prayer for their safety.

  When he’d finished stabilizing Ismail, he checked the shackle around his ankle. It was still tinted green with the curse and impossible to remove. So Eli wrapped the remaining part of the chain, blocked by the Khaiti diamond, once around the shackle and fastened it so that it wouldn’t drag. He left Ismail stretched out in the back with Flintlock watching him and climbed into the driver’s seat. He had a tussle with Diamond for control of the craft, and once he’d wrestled the steering yoke away, she tried to sit beside him, then on him, then on the other side – with Mr Nimbles and Nelly hissing and chittering at each other at full volume from their respective pockets. He reconnected autopilot to his desert-mapping system and felt the Gypsy Rose take over, flying them back to the city – with more questions, fewer answers, more problems, fewer solutions, and one unpredictable and dangerous miracle.

  Chapter 14

  Croy

  Kullra Fornax

  Nÿr-Corum (The Tower)

  Exhaustion defined them. They didn’t sit – they slumped, debilitated. Their faces weren’t tired, they were drained – of color, of expression, blank and bleary-eyed with heavily laden lids blinking ever closer to closed. Studying the prisoners now through the one-way glass, Croy saw they were clearly siblings, and from their tattered clothing and ragged physical condition, she judged they’d been in hiding for some time. From what she didn’t know, since neither of them had uttered an intelligible word since arriving, but whatever it was, it had to be truly horrendous for them to seek shelter in the purgatory of the Crematorium.

  Croy focused on the brother, a boy fast transitioning into a man with a broad chest and shoulders, a young face with old eyes – watchful, mistrusting. His sister, in contrast, was now calm – too calm. She looked completely disconnected and she was mumbling to herself. She was definitely cracked, but she wasn’t the only odd thing about the pair – their actual posture was strange too. Tower Wardens had locked them in separate cells, but they sat on either side of the thick wall in an exact mirror image, pressed up against the rock as though they could feel the other one there.

  The door to the interrogation cells opened and closed behind her, and Croy knew it was Darius by the scents of leather and tigaro smoke and the sound of his breathing. Growing up orphaned and rough in the industrial zones had taken its toll on his lungs. And the smoking didn’t help. She kept saying it. He kept ignoring it.

  “Found them,” he said, and Croy turned quickly. For some reason, she hadn’t expected these two to be in the system. Darius walked over to her, providing his own interpretation of the records parchment he was holding.

  “Castor and Kellor Quartermaine, twin children of Ezra Quartermaine – Purple Wing, medical professor, nutjob and insurrectionist. Found guilty of high treason for conspiring with Drays.” He bit down on the word. “He was tagged for execution, then vanished into thin air from inside a Tower cell. No witnesses, no traces. His children, aged eight annums at the time, have been registered as missing ever since.”

  “Until now,” Croy murmured.

  “Until now,” her partner
agreed. He showed her a sketch of the twins as children. She guessed they were now into their early teens.

  “Why wouldn’t they just turn themselves in?” Darius asked. “They would have been cleared and released – unless they helped their father get out.”

  “The girl,” Croy said, “the sister, Kellor, she’s not right. Maybe Quartermaine kept her protected, but once he was gone they were on their own.”

  “You think the brother knew she’d be exiled? Wouldn’t he have been too young to understand about all that?”

  “Think of what you knew at eight annums,” Croy said.

  Darius snorted. “Big difference between where I was and their sheltered life.”

  “Just because they were Purple doesn’t mean they were sheltered,” Croy reminded him.

  She remembered seeing their father, Ezra Quartermaine. He had been a former Fleetsman like John L and occasionally the two had spoken, when John hadn’t been able to avoid it. He’d told Croy that Quartermaine made him uneasy and she’d understood why. During her training and career, she’d been taken by surprise on many occasions by how normal and average killers could look, but Quartermaine was not one of these. He was crazy-eyed and wild-haired, and when he spoke he stood so close you could smell the sourness of his breath – it had smelled like blood. He’d finally come out with an outlandish claim that the Conference had secret laboratories where they ran terrible experiments on children. Their rebuttal was to have him arrested and condemned. Then they’d produced evidence of his contact with the enemy Dray.

  Croy touched her ear. It was still aching and ringing badly from the explosion of her I-Sect, but worse than that was the stain of the strange emotions she’d experienced at the Crematorium. Since returning to the Tower she’d felt moments of extreme sadness and starving desperation that were unconnected to everything around her. She felt certain something far more sinister than the obvious was happening at the Crematorium, and these two might be the key to understanding what that was. And maybe their father was somehow connected.