Ashes of the Sun

by Django Wexler

  “Kaboom!” Kit said happily, then dissolved into another fit of giggles.

  Lynnia rolled her eyes. Gyre shifted his grip and took Kit upstairs. Her head was still resting on his shoulder, and the feel of her breath against his neck was distracting. From the sly look in her eye, he suspected she knew it. When he reached his room, he deposited her on the bed, then sat heavily in his chair.

  “Ooooh,” she said, bouncing a little and making the bed frame creak. “Is this where you take advantage of my helpless state to toss me on the bed and ravish me?”

  “Of course not,” Gyre said.

  “You sure? It’s been a long day.”

  He rolled his eye. “I don’t believe you’re helpless for a minute.”

  “You’re learning.” Kit sat up, her coordination returning abruptly. “This your room? You don’t decorate much.”

  “It’s just a place to sleep,” Gyre said.

  “Nice of Lynnia to put up a notorious rebel,” Kit said. “What’s she getting out of it? A hot young lover? No need to be shy.”

  “Lynnia,” Gyre said, maintaining his calm with an effort, “has been married twice, both times to women. You’re more her type than I am.”

  “There’s a thought. Maybe then she’d let me into the interesting shelves.”

  “She helps us because she believes in Yora’s cause,” Gyre said. “Freedom for the tunnelborn.”

  “And you don’t,” Kit said. “Does that bother you?”

  “Freedom for tunnelborn means hurting the Republic and the Order,” Gyre said. “Which means we’re on the same side.”

  “Until something better comes along,” Kit said, tapping her chest with a finger.

  “Kit—”

  “So what did your rebel leader tell you?”

  Gyre took a deep breath. “Raskos is moving the Core Analytica.”

  Kit leaned forward, suddenly all focus. “Is he really?”

  “Yora guessed he’s found a buyer for it.”

  “Mmm,” Kit said noncommittally.

  “She’s got a plan. We’ll have an opportunity to grab it when they try to get it out of the city.”

  “I’m sure she does.”

  Gyre narrowed his eye. “Is there something you want to tell me?”

  “Here’s the thing,” Kit said, crossing her legs underneath her. “I heard from my own sources this morning. After the Auxies crashed our party, I guessed something was fishy, but now I know for certain. Someone in your group is talking to the dux.”

  “Not possible,” Gyre said. “If we had a traitor, we’d all have been caught by now.”

  “Yora had to bring in new people, didn’t she? Do you trust them all?”

  “I—” Gyre stopped. He didn’t, not like he trusted Sarah and Ibb. “How do you know?”

  “It’s a little hard to explain. But you understand that this means your ‘opportunity’ is almost certainly a trap? In fact, I’m reasonably certain they’re not moving the Analytica at all. I doubt the dux would risk it, not with the Order in town.”

  Something tightened in Gyre’s chest. “The Order, here?”

  “Two centarchs, at least,” Kit said. “They’re staying at the Spike, for now. Best guess is someone is leaning on the dux.”

  Gyre shook his head. “Then we have to call everything off. Go to ground until they’re gone.”

  “And if they take the Analytica with them when they go?”

  “Your client will just have to take that risk,” Gyre said. His scar itched fiercely. “Going up against centarchs is suicide.”

  “I thought the legendary Halfmask would be more daring,” Kit said. “Here’s the thing about a trap, though. If you know where it’s going to be, you know where it’s not going to be.”

  Gyre paused for a moment. “You think the Analytica will still be at the warehouse.”

  “Got it in one. While the dux and his Order friends are waiting for us to take the bait, we can sneak the prize out from behind their backs.”

  “That… might be possible,” Gyre said. “I’d have to talk to Yora and the others—”

  Kit rolled off the bed and leapt to her feet, suddenly exasperated. “Have you even been listening to me? Yora’s organization is compromised. If you tell her, Raskos finds out, and we’re back to walking into an ambush.”

  “Then what are you suggesting?”

  “We steal the Analytica. You and me. No leaks.”

  “That’s…” Gyre shook his head. “We’d never get inside.”

  “Most of the equipment is ready, and I can get the rest. I’ve been watching Nevin’s planning. We can do it.”

  “We still need to warn the others.”

  “We can’t. Because if we do, then our window disappears.” Kit crossed the room to stand in front of him, hands clasped behind her back. “You want what I’m offering? This is your shot. Screw it up, and there won’t be another.”

  Gyre looked up into her eyes, alight with mischief, a slight grin on her lips. For a moment he was back in the tunnels, surrounded by bandits, her blaster fire the spark that ignited a sudden flare of steel and blood. Doomseeker.

  He’d followed her this far. But—

  “I can’t,” he said.

  “You told me you’d do anything to get to the Tomb,” Kit said, her voice quiet and dangerous.

  “I’ve seen precious little evidence that you can actually take me there,” Gyre said.

  “Ah.” Kit regarded him in silence for a moment, then straightened up. “Tell you what. Come with me, and I’ll show you something.”

  Gyre wasn’t sure where he’d expected Kit to lead him, but it hadn’t been here.

  They’d caught a cab together, and Kit had directed the driver north and west, away from the Pit and toward the strip of manufactories and warehouses. The border between the industrial area and the residential part of the city was a ragged wound. A few small brick buildings stood together in isolated outposts where all their fellows had been knocked down to make way for encroaching industry, like the last clumps of trees on a logged-out plain.

  Their cabbie deposited them in front of one of these buildings, a simple two-story town house now without its neighbors. A crust of broken bricks on one side showed where another structure had been shorn away. The walls were carved with graffiti, and all the windows had been boarded up long ago.

  “Here?” Gyre said.

  “Appearances can be deceptive.” Kit clapped him encouragingly on the shoulder. “Try to make a good impression.”

  “Who, exactly, are we meeting? Your clients?”

  “You’ll see.”

  She strode up to the front door and rapped. For a moment there was no response, and then Gyre heard the scrape of a bar pulling away, and the door swung very slightly inward. Kit pushed it the rest of the way open, but Gyre could see nothing but a heavy black curtain behind it.

  “Come on,” Kit said. “It’s safe. Probably safe.”

  She found a seam in the curtain and slipped through. Gyre hesitated for a moment, then followed. The cloth was thick and utterly black, in several layers, folding and whispering around him. When he finally got free of it, he found himself in total darkness. His groping hands encountered Kit, and he kept hold of her shoulder.

  “Kitsraea.” The voice that came out of the darkness was female, soft and musical, with the precise diction of someone speaking a foreign language. “Welcome back. You decided to take the risk, then.”

  “It seemed like the best option,” Kit said. “This is Gyre, otherwise known as Halfmask.”

  Gyre’s skin prickled, and his scar itched. He ducked his head politely, then realized whoever was speaking couldn’t see it in the gloom. “Uh… hello.”

  “Hello, Gyre,” the voice said. “Welcome to you as well, for whatever it’s worth. My name is Elariel.”

  “A little light would be nice,” Kit said. “I’m not sure Gyre appreciates what he’s gotten into.”

  “Of course.” There was a shuffl
ing sound. “Please don’t scream.”

  A glowstone came on, a very weak one, shedding the faintest blue radiance. It was barely enough to outline the edges of things, but Gyre’s eye had had a few moments to adapt to the darkness. He quickly got the impression of a high, cavernous space. While the building looked intact from outside, the interior had been gutted, two stories combined to make a single enormous chamber. Detritus from this deconstruction work was still in evidence, piled against the far wall in a tidy heap.

  The space had been filled with arcana. The largest was a delicate-looking filigree of crystals and metal wire that took up much of what had been the second story, wound round with tough-looking vines. Plantlike shapes bloomed from the walls, sprouting crystalline protrusions and webs of leaves that gleamed with a metallic shimmer. Similar objects sprouted from the floor, clustering in a rough semicircle.

  Of more immediate concern were the two hulking shapes that waited on either side of Gyre and Kit. They were vaguely humanoid, but at least eight feet high, and put Gyre in mind of the rock-like guardian that had killed Harrow down in the tunnels. These lacked the stony outer layer and were seemingly composed entirely of gleaming black muscle. They stood in complete stillness but nonetheless carried an air of barely contained tension, like springs that would unwind in sudden violence if the pressure was ever released.

  But directly in front of him, beside the light, was a figure that put even these out of his mind. Gyre blinked, felt his mouth hanging open, and closed it with an audible clack. He swallowed hard, fighting for control of his throat. When he felt he could trust his voice, he spoke.

  “You’re a ghoul.”

  Elariel cocked her head. “I admit you’re taking it better than I expected.”

  She was tall, a head taller than Gyre, and by human standards painfully thin. Her arms and legs were thin, too, and longer than a human’s. Her spindly appearance was offset by her fur, a thick red-brown coat that covered her completely except for hands, feet, and face. She wore no clothing, and her small breasts were tipped by broad black nipples. Her face seemed more human than the rest of her, with an upturned nose, a broad, expressive mouth, and enormous eyes, pupils so wide they were nearly black from edge to edge. Her ears were long and pointed, sticking well out to the sides of her head and twitching with interest. When she spoke, Gyre saw sharp, feline teeth.

  “You…” Gyre turned to Kit. “This is your client?”

  “More like my handler,” Kit said. “The client is still back in the Tomb.”

  “That’s right,” Elariel said. Her voice sounded so human it was a shock to hear it again. “I’m just the errand girl.”

  “You…” Gyre shook his head and squeezed his eye shut for a moment. He could hear his heartbeat roaring in his ears. He took shallow breaths, striving for calm. “The ghouls are all dead.”

  “I’ll be sure to tell everybody when I get home,” Elariel said dryly.

  “I mean…” Gyre opened his eye and stared at her. “That’s what everyone says. What we were always told. Even by the Order.”

  “We do our best to keep it that way,” Elariel said. She glanced at Kit, who cleared her throat.

  “You understand the problem now,” Kit said. “Just by bringing you here—”

  “You can’t let me leave.” Gyre felt his lips curl in a manic grin. “Not when I might spill the secret.”

  “It’s possible I could convince Naumoriel you don’t pose a threat,” Elariel said. “But the more you see, the less likely that is. I warned Kitsraea it was a risk.”

  “I can’t get the Analytica without him,” Kit said. “This seemed like the quickest way to make him understand. We need to talk to Naumoriel.”

  “Nau—” Gyre began.

  “The client,” Kit cut him off, waving a hand. “We’re out of choices, El.”

  The ghoul sniffed, her ears twitching. “I have told you that your use of nicknames would be considered highly insulting—”

  “Elariel.”

  “I will contact my master,” she said, her huge eyes flicking to Gyre. “For the boy’s sake, I hope you know what you’re doing.”

  The ghoul turned away, bending to touch the semicircle of misshapen arcana. Lights flickered inside the crystalline surfaces, and plantlike tendrils unwound and reshaped themselves into new configurations. The ghoul’s wide, spindly fingers danced across the irregular surface.

  Just the things in this room would be the biggest find any scavenger’s ever had. Gyre looked up at the metal lattice overhead, which was slowly shifting its position. It’s all alive—

  “You okay?” Kit said, leaning close with a conspiratorial air.

  “Just a little surprised.”

  “A little?” She grinned. “You should have seen your face.”

  “You really did find the Tomb.”

  “I told you I did, didn’t I?”

  “Not in so many words.”

  Kit sniffed. “Well. I didn’t deny it, anyway.”

  “And it’s still alive? A whole city… like this?”

  “Let’s put a hold on the questions until we figure out if you’re going to survive,” Kit said. “El’s friendly enough, but Naumoriel is the boss here. If he tells her to kill you, she will.” She glanced at the silent, dark-muscled figures. “And don’t doubt that she can.”

  “I don’t. What are those things?”

  “What did I say about questions? Just listen. I’m going to try to convince Naumoriel that I need you to get the Analytica and that he can trust you. You need to help me. If he asks you a question, be honest.”

  “Is he coming here, or—”

  Kit laughed. “Just watch, Halfmask.”

  After a few moments, Elariel finished what she was doing, and the room was filled with a rising hum. Bits of tendril overhead extended, quivering with effort. In front of Elariel, fat blue sparks crackled from crystal to crystal, then abruptly rose into the air to form a shimmering, shifting curtain of blue light taller than a man. Elariel stepped away as the curtain wavered, then cleared like frost melting from a window. In the empty space where it had been, the image of a ghoul stood, half-transparent and outlined in blue light.

  Gyre was hardly an expert on ghouls, but he guessed that this one was much older. His fur was a ratty gray and had fallen out in places, showing fish-belly-pale skin broken by angry red sores. The crown of his head was bald and liver spotted, just like a human’s, and one of his eyes was a milky white. Like Elariel, he was naked, but the left-hand side of his chest was covered by a steel plate studded with crystalline protrusions. From underneath the metal, tiny tendrils extended a few centimeters before plunging into the ghoul’s flesh.

  The arcana that brought his image up from the Tomb evidently enabled him to see them as well. His good eye swept over Kit and Elariel and focused on Gyre at once. His long, gray-tufted ears went stiff, and his voice was cold.

  “Who is this?” he snapped.

  “The boy called Gyre, Master,” Kit said, stepping forward to stand directly in front of the flickering image. “I mentioned him in my last report.”

  “He has seen too much already.” The old ghoul waved a hand. “Dispose of him.”

  “I need him, Master,” Kit said. “The Twilight Order’s centarchs are already here. We have only one chance to get the Core Analytica—”

  “Because you waited too long!”

  “The dux is careful,” Kit said.

  “I care very little for the dux,” Naumoriel said, “and not at all for your excuses. You know the price of failure.”

  “I do.” Kit bowed her head. “With Gyre’s help, we will have the Analytica in hand tomorrow evening.”

  “Then why bring him here?”

  “It was the only way to ensure his cooperation.” Kit stepped aside, letting Naumoriel look at Gyre. “His price for helping us was that I guide him to the Tomb.”

  To Gyre’s surprise, the ghoul laughed at this, his ears twitching. It ended with a cough, and the
re was a wheeze in Naumoriel’s breath when he spoke.

  “Bold, boy. Bold.”

  “I’ve been called that,” Gyre said.

  “And quite foolhardy.”

  “That as well,” Gyre said. Kit sniggered.

  “I supplied Kitsraea with ample resources to secure the help she needed.” Naumoriel cocked his head, ears quivering. “And yet she brings you to see me.”

  “It wasn’t her money I wanted.”

  “You want to visit the Tomb.” He pronounced the word with an ironic twist. “Why? Did you think to plunder our graves?”

  “I didn’t know the ghouls survived,” Gyre admitted.

  Naumoriel leaned forward. “And now that you know, do you regret your request?”

  “Not at all.”

  “Why?” Naumoriel’s lips split in a cold smile, showing small, sharp teeth. “What do you hope to find?”

  “Be honest,” Kit had said. Gyre took a deep breath.

  “Power,” he said. “The Twilight Order destroyed my family. My whole life, I’ve searched for a way to destroy them in turn. But they have the power of the Chosen, and they leave the rest of us nothing. Only the ghouls ever stood up to that power.”

  “Power. And you thought you’d just come down here and find it?” Naumoriel’s grin widened. “That goes beyond bold.”

  Gyre shrugged.

  The old ghoul barked another laugh. “You certainly know how to choose your allies, Kitsraea.”

  “Thank you, Master,” she said, though Gyre wasn’t sure it had been a compliment.

  “Very well,” the old ghoul said to Gyre. “Get me the Core Analytica, and you may bring it to the Tomb.” A tiny pink tongue ran across his pointed teeth. “I make no promises as to whether you’ll return.”

  Before Gyre could answer, the image vanished.

  Emerging onto the street after the darkness of Elariel’s lair was like stepping into a different world. The sun was low in the western sky, but it was still blinding, and Gyre felt half-drunk as he staggered out the door. Kit took his arm in hers.

  “Well,” she said. “That went better than expected.”

  “You…” Gyre shook his head. He had a thousand questions, and an unpleasant feeling she wasn’t going to answer any of them. “Are these your ‘contacts’?”