by Daryl Banner
“And how are you any different from him?” Link argues, still suspicious.
“You can see me as … the man who wants to save his brother from himself. Baron is a greedy, power-hungry man, desperate for a vision he knew he would never have. I am very different from him because I have seen both the future of what comes as well as the histories of what’s passed. I have been hundreds of years into the past. I have been hundreds of years into the future. I, alone, know the power of the Goddesses, and if your vision can leads us to them, it is my firm belief that we, alone, can save Atlas. Your vision, of course, makes the mission easier … but it will never be easy.”
Ames interjects with his own stupid question. “What happens a hundred years in the future?”
Link scowls at him. “You actually believe this man?” Link turns to Baal, if that’s even his name. “For all we know, Baron was the one who intended to do good with the Goddess Mission. For all we know, it is you who is the greedy, power-hungry one.”
“I have been watching you since the day you were born,” Baal returns. “I know of—”
“It’s not your Legacy I need to be convinced of,” Link interrupts, his eyes narrowed.
Baal tilts his head. “No … No, I think it rather is. If you saw the future that I have seen, you would know where my intentions lie. Why would I have bad intentions with the Goddesses, if they are the only means by which we can save our city? See, my brother Baron only knows thirst, only knows yearning, only knows dreaming and wishing and wanting. He makes you pray for those very things during your three hours of Goddess driveling, doesn’t he?”
“It isn’t driveling,” says Ames, defensive.
“But I’ve only known dreams. I’ve seen them. I’ve lived them. There is no hunger or need or desperation in my heart. I am simply a problem-solver, my children. I am an architect of circumstance and time, with my goal being to ensure that our future is a happy one. I can keep both of you out of danger as long as possible … if you join me in this mission for the Goddesses. We will keep together, all three of us. A trio to save the world.”
More like a quartet. Link shuffles his feet, hoping beyond hope that Kid keeps herself invisible. The way she found them in the Waterways and then followed them to the ruins of The Brae was so accidental. He wonders if this time-walker does know that she’s with them, and if he does, why isn’t he saying so? He’s cockily confessed to so many other things he cleverly knows.
And then the last sight they had before being ripped ten years into their past. Baron, a knife drawn across his own throat. Baron, his heavy white robe turning red. Baron’s last moment of life …
“But Baron is dead,” murmurs Link, “and we are not. How?”
“Because his death is now ten years ahead of us,” answers Baal. “Isn’t that answer obvious? You remain alive until he is not.”
Link’s mouth runs dry as he figures what the man is saying. “So we … we have only ten years more to … to live?”
Baal’s mouth quirks, understanding the full scope of Link’s fear, which appears to be reflected in the beady eyes of Ames as well. The man crouches down, putting himself two heads below the boys, and turning his face up into the orange lantern-light of the tunnel, he says, “When we find the runaway Goddess, I will time-walk to that very moment … and I will move Baron as far into the future as you wish. I will take my brother’s bloodied, dying body and pull him a hundred years into the future, if it is a hundred long years you boys wish to live. I could pull him a thousand years and render you two virtually immortal.” He smiles mutely. “That is my payment to you, for doing the great deed of finding me a Goddess and saving Atlas. I offer you the eternal life my brother only emptily offered you.”
Link and Ames exchange a heavy, meaningful look. The two boys can’t seem to decide, each looking more wary and anxious than the other. You are always so full of opinions, Link would say to his so-called friend, angry. Where is your voice now?
Link suddenly frees his mind. The possibilities … “We could do more than just find him a Goddess,” he realizes out loud.
Ames quirks an eyebrow, not following.
Link turns to the crouched man, his eyes smartened by a sudden inspiration. “We could stop the Mad King from taking Atlas. We could kill Impis Lockfyre now, ten years ago, and—”
“No,” says Baal at once. “No, no. We aren’t here to change the histories. At least, not that history. It is much too dangerous.”
“We could warn the leader of the Wrath, Dran, not to go to that Weapons Show. We could …” Link glances at Ames, a fire in his eyes. “We could stop ourselves from giving in to Baron’s offer of joining the Brotherhood at all. We could get our real lives back.”
Baal rises. “Stop this foolish thinking at once.”
Link faces him defiantly, his neck bent. Baal is taller than his brother by almost a foot; he hasn’t noticed until now, with the man standing so threateningly close. “It isn’t foolish.”
“It is. Think it through, boy. Kill Impis Lockfyre, and you birth a whole new scandal in Sanctum. The current Legacist Ambera lives and Janlord retires peacefully in seven years’ time, his Peacemaker position passing down to none other than Ruena Netheris, whom he admired and mentored. Peacemaker Ruena and Marshal of Order Taylon don’t see eye to eye, and a great rift is drawn through Sanctum, which results in the immediate dismissal of both Ruena and the King, who passes the throne to Kael Mirand-Thrin. She holds zero tolerance for any lip or sly look, and thus sacks Taylon anyway, replacing the positions of both Peacemaker and Order back to her niece, Ruena, who is then murdered one night by a vengeful Taylon and his five most loyal—and corrupt—Sky Guard. The city falls into a rage. No heir is named, and Kael converts her Sky Guard into an Army Of Pearl-Armored Warriors, assuming the position of both Order and Peace herself. Ambera’s efforts to talk her out of it are silenced when the woman is pitched from the top floor of Cloud Tower, and her fall is anything but peaceful. Kael storms the slums with brute force, resulting in thousands of deaths. Need I go on?”
Link steps away, his back hitting the wall of the tunnel. He stares at the dark stone floor, exasperated. He could still be lying, Link reasons. He could have made all of that up just now. Don’t be fooled.
But how many times can Link convince himself not to be fooled by people? Is everyone in the world a liar? Is everyone in the world dark of heart, mean of spirit, and ready to watch the city fall around them? It was the allegedly greedy priest Baron Poe who once asked of Link: When you bring down the Lifted City, upon whose heads, exactly, do you think it will fall? Baron did care. Baron cared to save Link from his own wrath. Baron cared to teach Link a lesson in repentance. He couldn’t have been all bad …
“Or maybe you’re still considering saving the life of Dran, the boy with the black around his eyes? Or perhaps about saving your own lives from the clutches of my brother? Maybe then you’d never have met me, never had the vision of the Goddesses, and it may be some other poor fool I drag ten years into the past with.” Baal smirks. “Or … you’re the only one the Goddesses trusted it with.”
Link didn’t believe that for a second. It makes no sense, that the Sisters would trust him, of all people in Atlas. There is no possible reason for it, so his mind discards the notion at once. “I want to see my family,” he says. “I want to know where they are.”
Baal considers the boy, long and hard. “I will make a deal with you, brave boy with the shadows in your eyes. I will show you anything you want to see … anything at all … as long as you remain a shadow on the wall. You cannot touch a thing. You cannot speak to a single soul. You cannot change any history.” Baal leans in, his eyes heavy and pointed. “Then, and only then, will I show you the things you wish.”
Ames blurts, “Me too. Please. I want to see my parents. I want … I want to see Pharis and Gorde, my parents, my parents that I love and miss so much.”
Link gapes. Ames has never referred to them as his parents, since it was al
ways the rule of the Brotherhood to abandon one’s past and identity. Maybe his heart was never truly turned. Maybe he was, all along, biding his time with the Sister-obsessed priest.
Baal regards Ames with less-than-patient eyes. “Perhaps. Yes. I suspect we could indulge the both of you. After all, we have all the time in the world that we want … don’t we?”
Theoretically. Link inclines his head toward the person that only he and Ames knows is there. Stay with me, he wants to tell her. Don’t let go, under any circumstance.
He realizes he could hint the message. “We … We are just kids,” murmurs Link. “Kid … and kid. We need to stick together. The three of us. We can’t be separated, not for a single second.”
Baal studies him. “Of … course. Why would any of us separate?”
Ames, of all times to decide to speak, does so now. He faces Link. “Are you meaning that we need to make sure that she—”
“She—” Link interrupts at once, turning to him, “will be found.”
Ames quirks an eyebrow, confused.
“The Goddess,” he says, his eyes so fierce, he prays that Ames can catch his hidden meaning. “We must protect her. She … cannot be seen, and certain greedy eyes will be looking for her. You and I …” Link lowers his voice. “You and I must keep her … a secret, Ames.”
At last, comprehension dawns on the boy’s face. “Yes, right,” he agrees, his voice barely audible. “Secret.”
Kid’s invisible grip on Link’s arm tightens. She got the message, too. Link turns back to Baal. “We will find your Goddess before those certain greedy other eyes do. In exchange for eternal life. And …” He takes a deep breath, thinking of his mother, of his father, of all his brothers he misses so much. “And in exchange … for you showing us everything we want.”
“My time is yours,” promises Baal, gripping their shoulders, ready for the command. “Where shall we go first?”
Anwick, Lionis, Halves, Aleks, Ellena, Forgemon … They all have names. Link will never, for any Brotherhood or another, pretend that they do not. “A house in the ninth ward slums,” Link answers.
0165 Athan
A gentle wind stirs through the alleys when they approach the square.
“This can’t be it, can it?” asks Lionis.
Recklessly, Athan barrels out of the alleyway, not bothering with their usual protocol of checking for brigands first. In place of the warehouse they were expecting to find is a collapsed series of metal walls, shattered glass, and rubble.
Athan doesn’t hear what Lionis says. He isn’t listening. With fierce and focused eyes, Athan circumvents the debris, looking for any signs of movement or life. Don’t panic yet, he tells his already hyper-drive nervous system. This could be the aftermath of something. Wick and Juston may have gotten away.
“The earpieces are fucking dead,” whines Lionis as he catches up. “Arrow doesn’t know what he’s doing anymore. He can’t even make a proper charm. Hello??” he calls into his earpiece, tapping it over and over. “Hello? Arrow? Prat? Anyone …?”
“Shush,” urges Athan as politely as he can, his voice trembling as he stumbles over the debris, crouching to look underneath the fallen walls as best as he can.
The heart-thrashing insanity that nearly pushed him right out of the Warden’s tower with invisible hands has gone and stayed away since he’s left. Athan pays attention to the absence of the sensation as much as he does the presence of it. It was an unnatural sort of lunacy, he tells himself, mulling it over. I felt at any moment that my life could have ended, and if I didn’t get out of that building …
“Do you hear that?”
Athan stops moving at once and listens. Somewhere in the calm silence of the scene, there is a tiny, high-pitched squeal. Athan and Lionis turn their heads toward one another, brows wrinkled. What is that noise?
The boys come around the damage to a part of the warehouse that is still half-standing, though its entrance is crushed in enough that it cannot be properly entered. Athan thinks he hears the noise from within that half-standing room, but there is no way in. He tries to lift one of the metal sheets that likely made up a wall, but it’s too heavy, even for him. He goes for a smaller piece and, despite pulling and grunting until he worries his back could snap in half, he gives up, staring at the scene helplessly. What good are these muscles if I can’t lift a damn thing?
“Over here,” hisses Lionis, pressing his ear to a leaning, dented part of the building.
Athan comes up to Lionis’s side, putting an ear to the cold metal and closing his eyes. He hears the shrill noise.
“WICK??” calls out Athan.
There is no response.
Suddenly, the building groans, drowning out the odd noise they were pursuing. Athan and Lionis retreat several paces, alarmed, and watch as the rest of what stands begins to lean, farther and farther, until it too collapses with a thunderous crash that reverberates down every nearby street and casts dirt and smog up into the air. Even the dust seems to dance, spiraling and twirling around in little lazy cyclones until they die down, settling with the wreckage.
Athan and Lionis cautiously approach, stepping over the fallen walls. The source of the noise is found after Athan pushes aside part of a toppled shelving unit. A tiny bend of metal is shrieking at them, loud and shrill.
“Charm,” mutters Lionis, wincing and lifting his shoulders to partially shield his ears.
“A broken one. It had to have been Wick’s or Juston’s.” Athan kicks it away, then watches as the little thing skips across the rubble and falls through the cracks of debris, muffling its piercing cry. “And that begs answer to the question of—”
“—where’s my brother and Juston,” finishes Lionis bitingly.
After Athan and Lionis call out twenty-two more times with no response meeting their ears—all while pushing away whatever loose bits of wall and rubble that they can—the boys decide to search the area around the warehouse. At first they search together, scoping the side streets of the plaza next to the fallen warehouse. They don’t find anyone at all, giving them the eerie impression that this part of the eleventh is utterly abandoned by all citizenry—good and bad alike.
Lionis gets distracted inspecting the windows of the abandoned buildings that line the nearby plaza, curious if he’ll find Wick or Juston inside one of them. Athan stays closer to the wreckage and tries to put himself inside the mind of his boy. Where would I go? Would I hide? Would I find my way back to the sixth? For a wild second, Athan wonders if Wick might have gone back through the Core, or taken a different roundabout way instead.
His wonderings bring him down a bending road lined with side-by-side double-decker houses. Were they attacked? Athan keeps his eyes open, as if Wick could emerge from behind a fence, or a wall, or a dumpster. I will find you, baby. I know you’re here. I know you’re okay.
He keeps telling himself that. I know you’re okay. He won’t believe any other outcome.
The street empties onto a main road, wide and damp and, like all the previous areas they’d searched, completely abandoned. Not a soul in sight. A faint smell of smoke hovers in the thick, repellant air. There’s something about this road that gives Athan chills. He feels like he should turn back, but something compels him to keep moving his feet. I will find you …
Athan let his eyes scan the buildings as he walks, all of them looking eerily dead and daunting. Even with the street being so wide, or perhaps in spite of it, Athan feels watched by the towering, silent buildings. The only thing he hears is his own footsteps as he walks the road, which inspires him to walk quieter. The last thing he wants to do is attract the wrong kind of attention, just in case there is someone lurking behind a corner somewhere, waiting for Athan to get close. I was foolish not to arm myself.
He stops when he sees the archway over the street. A rusty sign hangs from its stone arm, the words so faded that Athan can’t read it until he’s nearly standing right under the thing: “Ward 12.”
Ward 1
2? The realization hits him hard and he steps back, fear chasing through his body. The Forsaken Ward. The Dark Abandon. This is it. He’s never before seen it with his own eyes, only having heard all the creepiest things about it from other Lifted folk. His brother Radley especially loved talking about it, telling him scary stories in the dead of night about the Ward That Once Was. There was even a night once when Radley and Athan snuck out of Broadmore Manor and walked, barefoot, to the other side of the Eastly where the Glassen Square Sweeterie resided. It was closed for the night, and the boys counted on it, because they climbed to its rooftop and overlooked the Dark Abandon. Of course, the ward was still very far away, as there’s no part of the Lifted City that actually hovers directly over the twelfth ward, but that rooftop was the closest any Lifted citizen could get to seeing it. He stayed with his brother on that roof for hours while they shared and made up stories about ghosts and ghouls that manned and haunted the great dark waste that was that corner of the city.
And now, here stands Athan before one of its gloomy entrances. He is as awed as he is terrified. Did Wick go in there? He can’t think of a single logical reason why Wick, if looking for a place to seek shelter of some kind, would dare to enter this dangerous place.
And then there’s a voice in his ear. “Athan.”
Athan spins, startled, but sees no one. He turns to the left, then to the right, confused.
“Athan. It’s Arrow. Athan, are you there?”
He looks down at his hand, remembering a dull ring he’d been given over a month ago. Arrow’s charm. I’d forgotten it utterly. He brings it to his mouth, hoping he’s using it right. “A-Arrow?” There is no response, so he taps the ring a few times. “Arrow? You there?”
“Oh, thank the Goddesses. I thought I was alone.”
So did I. “Arrow, we’re trying to—”
“The Warden has betrayed us,” Arrow says at once, his voice wavering through the charm—or perhaps he’s scared or out of breath; Athan can’t tell. “At least, that’s what we presume. The Wall Breakers had a plan to kill us, but we were a step ahead and escaped. You can’t return to the sixth. We need—”