The Fifth City

by Liz Delton

  “Lady Blackwater, may I ask what you’re doing when you—” she mimicked the finger motion on her own crimson sleeve.

  The Lady smiled, and paused with her scone halfway to her lips.

  “The fabric is datawoven, my dear, neurologically connected to my earlink, which processes the commands.” Lady Naomi turned her head, and Sylvia saw a small, silver nub tucked inside her ear.

  Beyond that, she couldn’t decipher a word the Lady had just said. It must have shone on her face, so the Lady continued.

  “The earlink allows me to communicate with others in the castle, and the fabric allows me to carry out these commands, and store data from the earlink. In short, I’ve just asked for your bag to be returned to your rooms.”

  Sylvia blinked. Lady Naomi could communicate with others with a flick of her fingers? She let out a shaky breath, and brought her teacup to her mouth to hide her bewilderment.

  “It’s rather convenient, I must say,” the Lady continued, perhaps to intimidate Sylvia even further. “We developed it ages ago, and have perfected the processors in the datawoven threads over the years. You’re wearing it yourself,” she added.

  Sylvia looked down at her dress, knowing at once what the silver thread represented.

  “You can’t access the data, but I suspect Medina manipulated it to such a fine shade of red; it complements your fascinating hair color.”

  “It’s normally blonde,” Sylvia said haltingly, grasping for something—anything—she could understand. “I shaded it darker so I wouldn’t be recognized in Lightcity.”

  The Lady took another bite of her scone, and made a little moan. “Delicious. Sylvia, you really need to try something,” she gestured to the various goodies on the table. Sylvia forced herself to choose something, and blindly scooped up a tart and took a bite to appease the Lady.

  She sipped her tea in silence as she tried to process what Blackwater had told her. Her hand ran along the fabric draped over her thigh in wonder.

  Oliver appeared sometime later to collect her, and Sylvia couldn’t have been more grateful to see the ever-smiling man. Lady Blackwater had put her on edge, with her sly smiles and overwhelming power of technology; but in order to gain their help, Sylvia must prove her worth, and she would sit through as many excruciating teas as it took.

  She resolved never to let her confusion show again. The Lady would only sense it as a weakness.

  When she returned to her rooms, her pack sat perched on the bench at the end of her bed. She gathered it up and flung herself onto the bed, hugging the pack as she curled herself into a ball. It was her one piece of home.

  Fourteen

  The wooden practice sword cracked loudly as Rolfe’s shoulder nearly collided with Ven and the two jumped apart, ending the spar. Rolfe chuckled and reached out for Ven’s cracked sword to assess the damage, and Ven dragged a tired wrist across his forehead, wiping away the sweat.

  The burly woodcarver put a little more pressure on the crack, and the sword split in two.

  “You owe me another sword,” Ven said, grinning at him. Rolfe chuckled and rolled his eyes, checking his own sword for damage. He was already supplying the Defenders the wooden training swords for the war effort.

  Ven told Rolfe to join another sparring group, so he could make his rounds through the rest of the trainees. He walked through the field and offered suggestions to some of the other fighting pairs. Overall, Ven had seen drastic improvement since they had begun training, but knowing how to wield a sword was only one step in getting the Defenders ready for war.

  Toward the back of the field, the Gatekeepers and Riders were aiming their bows at a line of straw targets. The seasoned fighters were already skilled in swordplay and had moved on to archery.

  As he wandered over to the shooting line, Ven spotted Flint lining up his shot, feet planted wide and the bow drawn taught. Ven watched as the arrow sliced through the air and sunk into the target, just above the center mark.

  Ven let out a low whistle as he came near. Flint was already nocking another arrow.

  “Good one,” Ven remarked, making sure to stay back from the shooting line that was marked in the muddy grass.

  Flint flicked his head back to acknowledge Ven before returning his attention to the target. He pulled the string back to his cheek, fingernails pressing into the flesh, and aimed. He narrowed his eyes at the straw circle, and the black paint that had been dabbed in the center. His fingers released. The arrow nestled itself directly under the first one.

  The other archers down the line methodically emptied their quivers, sinking their arrows into the straw, with the occasional shaft burying itself in the field after missing its target. Once they were done, Flint gave a loud whistle through his teeth and the archers went to collect their arrows.

  Ven grabbed Flint’s arm before he could make it down field.

  “We need to talk,” Ven muttered.

  Flint called to the archer at the next target, “Charwood! You mind?” he pointed at his target.

  After wrenching one of his own arrows out of the grass, Charwood waved and went on collecting for both targets.

  “What happened?” Flint demanded.

  Ven sighed. “Nothing—much—but, Vince was up on the parapet last night, and around dawn, he saw a big group of Scouts heading north.”

  Flint bit his lip, and Ven continued in a low voice.

  “I don’t know if they’re heading to Lightcity, but Greyling’s got something going—”

  “What do you want to do?” Flint asked seriously.

  This was why Ven had come to the Riftcity native first.

  “I think we should take some Defenders and go to Lightcity. Sylvia’s there and—”

  “But Gero gave her a month, it’s only been two weeks,” he reasoned.

  Ven closed his eyes briefly. “I know, but what if Greyling’s making a move?” he pressed.

  The other archers were returning to the line, quivers full.

  “Give it ‘til Winter’s End,” Flint said. “And we’ll go.”

  Ven nodded as the archers began shooting again at Flint’s whistled command.

  It was sound advice, he knew.

  But he went back to the sparring rings and picked up a sturdy new sword, looking for a fight.

  Fifteen

  Neve whipped her head around at a sudden movement, her heart suddenly pounding in her throat; but it was just a treemouse darting back up a tree, carrying a prize acorn in its mouth.

  She closed her eyes for a second and took a few deep breaths before walking on, her nerves having reached their limit already.

  It had been hours since the men from Seascape had dropped her from the boat onto shore, leaving her alone to face the wilds.

  She had flat out run across the stone beach where she and Sylvia had been so strangely tortured, not caring if the men from the boat were watching. She never wanted to experience that kind of pain again.

  Sylvia had told her to go to Meadowcity, so she had considered the position of the sun before attempting to hurry her way northward.

  She was armed with the blade that Sylvia had loaned her, and she sincerely hoped she would have the chance to return it to the Rider some day.

  Her only option now was to try and find Meadowcity, and tell them about what was going on in Seascape; about what Sylvia was risking for the sake of the Four Cities.

  Returning home to Lightcity now would be pointless, they were still blinded by Greyling’s lies. Besides, Meadowcity was closer, and it was the heart of the Four Cities right now, actively working to find a solution instead of bowing down to the enemy. She certainly wasn’t about to break her promise to Sylvia either; the girl had released her from Lightcity’s corruption.

  And Neve had amends to make.

  She desperately worried for the young Rider; Seascape seemed vicious and strange, and who knew what sort of tasks those “Trials” would entail. But Sylvia was brave and cunning, and she had easily overtaken that wolf and
saved Neve when she had frozen like an idiot.

  And she had forgiven Neve for creating the weapon that had wreaked terror throughout the cities. Sylvia would be okay.

  She kept the sun on her right, heading north, and kept a constant watch on her surroundings. She progressed slowly through the woods, which were heavy with brush, for several hours. It was a struggle to walk in a straight line, and her clothes snagged constantly on the thorns and branches.

  The wilds were silent, with only the occasional breeze weaving through the bare branches to make a sound, so she made her footsteps silent as well.

  It was unexpectedly peaceful walking through the wilds alone; a place she had feared since she could remember, the place that had claimed her father in his travels as a Rider long ago. She had never dreamed she would set foot here, much less unaccompanied.

  Eventually she emerged into a less dense part of the forest, where she wove in and out of the widely spaced trees, reveling in the feeling of the sun on her face. Leaves laid a blanket over the forest floor, damp from decomposition and the snows that had melted only a few weeks ago.

  Neve spied a good sized branch that would make a great walking stick, and an even better weapon against wolves, so she veered toward it. As she bent down to pick it up, she heard a low groan.

  A human groan.

  She swiftly crouched down and froze, her eyes darting wildly around the trees.

  Who else would be out here but the Scouts?

  She silently slipped the knife out of its sheath.

  Lady Blackwater hadn’t exactly said what she’d done with the Scouts she’d captured. Had she released them back into the wilds?

  Neve was rooted to the spot, her breath halted.

  Again, the groan.

  This time she was ready for it, and listened for its location. Her eyes darted ahead to the right.

  Among the dead leaves was an unusual brown lump, covered in splotches of deep red in some places.

  Someone was hurt.

  But what if it was a Scout?

  She looked around again, and saw no one else in sight.

  What if it was a trap?

  She carefully reached out to grab the branch she had wanted and stood up, holding it across her body, knife in the other hand.

  With one last look around, she approached the lumpy mound, circling around to get a better view.

  Matted, bronze hair poked out from underneath the dirty cloak, and as Neve bent down to pull it away she whispered in disbelief, “Falcon?”

  * * *

  It took a while before Falcon came around, and Neve fought with herself the entire time, silently pacing the small clearing.

  Why shouldn’t I just leave him here?

  He betrayed the Four Cities, carrying out Greyling’s plans. Lying to Lightcity. Lying to her.

  But something in her wouldn’t let her walk away.

  He was clearly wounded, but it didn’t look like an attack from a beast—there was a great purple and black bruise swelling up over one of his eyes, and his shirt was cut in some places revealing slashed and bloody wounds.

  There were no bite or claw marks; these looked like they were from a knife. Though she was no Healer, none of the wounds looked deep enough to kill, but there were a fair amount of them, so it was no wonder he had collapsed here alone.

  “I must be dead,” she heard suddenly from the leaves.

  They rustled, and Falcon lifted his head.

  She raised an eyebrow at him.

  “Why do you say that?”

  He winced, bringing a hand to his ribs.

  “Because you’re here. In the wilds,” he sighed, shaking his head slightly.

  Neve remained silent.

  I knew I should have left him, she thought, too late.

  “I just don’t get—” he took a sharp breath, “why it hurts so much.”

  She rolled her eyes, trying not to let her heart soften.

  “You’re not dead,” she spat. “Who beat you like this? The men from Seascape, or your Scout friends?”

  Confusion rolled over Falcon’s bruised face, and then his eyes flicked to the knife in her hand.

  “My….friends,” he said, taking Neve aback. “How do you know about—”

  “The fifth city?” Neve said, watching the shock flicker across his face. “A funny tale, you might say,” and she rushed into it, wanting to rent all of her frustration and anger of the past week out on him.

  “I happened to overhear the Scouts in the Broken Bellows the other night, boasting about a trip they were making; and they mentioned what an inconvenience the fight in Meadowcity had been, and something about boats being made in Riftcity.”

  “I thought it strange,” she continued, her voice rising with every word, “and went for a walk through the streets. Who do I come across but a Rider from Meadowcity, climbing over the wall, trying to sneak into our city; because they knew it was on lock down by order of Governor Greyling, who, seems to be waging a war behind our backs and inside our cities!”

  Falcon’s face wouldn’t have looked so pathetic had it not been swollen with bruises, but he looked at Neve with something like remorse.

  She turned away. She wanted to stay mad at him.

  “I couldn’t tell you,” he whispered.

  Neve stormed off a few paces, wondering again why she hadn’t just left him here. She should just walk away now, go to Meadowcity, and leave him here to rot.

  She could hear him moving around, and the leaves rustled with his motions as he tried to get up. She turned back to see him trying to examine the many cuts on his abdomen, and narrowed her eyes. He winced as he pulled the fabric of his shirt away from one of the wounds.

  “The Scouts did that to you?” she questioned.

  He nodded slowly, and looked around at the surrounding area, perhaps for his pack, or weapons. There was nothing.

  Then, a terribly sad look crossed his bruised face.

  “They killed Meera,” he said.

  Neve paused, still wanting to yell, to scream at him; but she knew how close he had been with his mountain lion. She had never met the beast—the Scouts didn’t bring them around the city—but he had told her all about how he had trained the lion, and how she would hunt for him when they went scouting, and guard him while he slept.

  “Why?”

  “They disagreed with me—I guess you know the lot of it, why we were going to Seascape?”

  She nodded, crossing her arms over her middle.

  “Well, after the—beach—” he shut his eyes, and Neve, too, cringed at the memory of the pain. “We woke up last night in the dark. Somebody had taken us from the ledge and dumped us in the forest. Once we woke up, we headed north to report back to Skycity, but everybody and the captain was ripping mad, threatening what we should do to them for hurting us like that. And then we found Goram’s wolf, Wing, dead. So they were all for going back to Seascape and finding another way to swim over and give them a piece of their mind.”

  “I thought I could try and calm them down about it, get them to report back first at least; but Jossen took it as threat, and the other Scouts too. Then they grabbed Meera….”

  He stared down at the dead leaves. “And then they came at me, calling me a coward, saying I was too weak to be a Scout. They took my weapons and—” he stopped. Neve could figure out what had happened after that.

  She gazed around at the barren trees and sighed.

  How had she even gotten here? It seemed like such a short time ago that she was storming off to the Broken Bellows for a drink, hoping to see Falcon.

  And here he was. A week later; beaten, bruised and having betrayed her beyond measure.

  But he could be useful in the wilds, she realized. He knows exactly how to get through the wilds and to the cities.

  She took in his matted bronze hair, his once handsome face, now bruised and broken with one eye completely swollen shut, and a lost look in the other one, and decided she would take him with her.


  She wouldn’t forgive him, but she could sure use him.

  Sixteen

  The sharp squeal of a wheel made Lady Naomi turn her head to the hallway. It must be Cora with the cart for tea, she thought, then turned her attention back to the inlaid looking-glass on the table.

  She checked the time by tracing a quick circle on her left wrist. Her tea with Sylvia wasn’t for another ten minutes.

  The looking-glass flickered back to life as she returned her attention to it, and called back the vid. Stalking before his fireplace, Governor Sorin Greyling was in a red-faced rage. A cloaked figure was crouched on the ground before him, cowering, and Naomi used her fingers on the datastrands to command her drone to move to the other side of the window and get a better angle.

  She held the connection with the drone, engrossed, as Cora entered the seaside room with the tea cart.

  “Just leave it, thanks Cora,” Naomi said quietly, concentrating on the screen as she maneuvered the tiny, bird-shaped drone, hundreds of miles from here, to show Sorin’s rage.

  Naomi didn’t even register the small girl park the cart full of tea and cakes and leave the room. She gazed at the image on the table, and watched Sorin roughly drag the man to his feet.

  Though she could not hear him, she could see the emotion radiating off the Governor, saw his face contort as he shouted, and his arms and hands gesture wildly. The man wasn’t hard to read.

  Sorin pushed the messenger toward the door and she recognized him as one of the Scouts that had thought they might approach Seascape by water the other week.

  A sly grin crept up to her lips. So, he was just getting the news, then.

  With a series of commands on her datathreads, she saved the vid and sent it by link to Commander Barton and Oliver, with a message requesting they meet that evening to yet again review the city’s defenses.