People of the City

by Marshall Ryan Maresca

  Gurond turned his attention to the Thorn again.

  “You know what I did to them?” the Thorn taunted.

  Gurond howled and charged at him. The Thorn dodged him again, jumping high, slamming a kick onto Gurond’s head before landing next to Dayne.

  “We need to end this,” he said. “Beasts are breaching the church, the constables are losing at the machine. We can’t play with him forever.”

  “We need to subdue him,” Dayne said. Even now, he loathed the idea of killing Gurond.

  The Thorn looked up. “I got an idea for that. Keep him busy.” He drew out an arrow—the last one in his quiver—and aimed high before firing.

  Gurond was turning back to them. “When I catch you—”

  “You’ll fail,” Dayne said, holding himself as tall as he could, despite every part of his body hurting. “You’ll always fail.”

  Gurond didn’t run this time, instead walking at a deliberate pace toward Dayne. The other fights in the square echoed and thundered around them, but Gurond’s rage had turned calm and cold. “When I catch you,” he continued, “I will tear the two of you limb from limb and wear your arms as a necklace.”

  “You will fail,” Dayne said, tightening his grip on the staff. He glanced at the Thorn, whose focus was still up high, hands raised. “Because there will always be another Tarian, another constable, another friend, another neighbor. Another champion to fight you.”

  “None of them can stop me,” Gurond said. “None of you can stop me.”

  “Please,” the Thorn said through gritted teeth. “I’ve stopped you before.”

  “I remember,” Gurond said. “I remember you most of all.”

  “And yet, once again,” Thorn said, his voice rising with effort and strain. “You forgot I’m a goddamn mage!”

  The Thorn pulled his hands down hard, and with a deafening clang, the grand church bell from the tower of Saint Bridget’s landed over Gurond.

  The Thorn swooned, almost cracking his head on the cobblestone before Dayne caught him.

  “That was a lot,” the Thorn said woozily. His facade over his face had faded, showing he had taken a few solid hits. Blood trickled from his nose, an ugly bruise on his cheek. Even still, he managed a weak smile on his very young face.

  “Well done,” Dayne said. From under the bell, Gurond bellowed and pounded fruitlessly. “Took him alive.”

  “I mean, fine,” Veranix said as Dayne helped him back on his feet. “Wasn’t fully the plan or anything, but if it makes you happy.”

  “It should hold him while we take care of the rest,” Dayne said. “What do you have left in you?”

  Veranix took a deep breath. “Just give me a moment.”

  Dayne’s shield came flying toward them, which Dayne didn’t realize until it nearly hit them. He reached out and caught it, noting where it was coming from.

  “What are you standing around for?” Asti Rynax yelled. “Get those bastards off of Verci and the constables.”

  Dayne handed Veranix his staff. “Ready for the next?”

  “Not even remotely,” Veranix said as he took it. “But bring it.”

  Satrine was out of bolts, but there seemed to be no end to zealots and monsters. After cracking one of them over the head with the crossbow—saints, what a beauty that thing was—she kept at it with her handstick and the irons Asti Rynax had given her. She just hammered anyone in front of her with the chain of it.

  Minox was on the ground. Two zealots were going for him.

  “We’re losing this,” she told Verci. “Clear me a path to Minox, get over to your brother, regroup.”

  “But the machine,” he said.

  “Can’t do much if we die. Go!”

  He shot from his gauntlet, laying down smoke. Satrine dashed to Minox, ready with her handstick. She couldn’t see through the smoke, but she had a good sense of where she was, where Minox was, and where those two zealots were going. She relied on her memory, on her ears, as she slammed her handstick into someone’s chest. She brought it down hard on them, knocking them to the ground, and then did the same to whoever was right next to them.

  “Minox!” she called.

  “Here, Inspector Rainey,” he said. She reached down and grabbed him, pulling him up and out of the cover of smoke.

  “Are you all right?”

  “I do not think I can defeat Senek,” he said. “He is too adept in his magic. I do not have enough control.”

  “Then don’t have any,” she said. “You have the power. Remember what Olivant told you.”

  “I never forget that,” he said. “I cannot risk . . .”

  “You have to lose control, Minox. Let it all go, and we’ll be here to bring you back.” She grabbed him by the shoulders. It would make him uncomfortable, but she needed him uncomfortable right now. “Use your anger.”

  “I don’t know if that’s enough.”

  Satrine knew what to say to make it enough. “You’ve been plagued by one unresolved question for the past couple weeks. Senek knows the answer.”

  His eyes flashed black, looking just like his hand for a moment. He turned and looked to Senek, who was again focused on the machine, and his voice dropped to a growl.

  “I should go ask him.”

  Black energy pulsed and seeped out of Minox as he stalked over toward the hairy, wiry man. Two more zealots jumped on him, but Minox brushed them off with a wave of his dark, magicked hand. They both went flying.

  “Senek!” Minox shouted as he closed the distance. He wound back his left arm and delivered a punch that sent waves across the square, all while shouting his question.

  “Where is my sister?”

  He kept pummeling, punctuating each blow with a word. “Where! Is! My! Sister!”

  Energy of every color, even impossible ones that Satrine could never describe, swirled around Senek as he blasted back at Minox, but nothing deterred him. The magical energies rose and bloomed, surrounding the both of them, the machine, filling the square.

  The Thorn stumbled over Satrine, Dayne right behind him. “I’ve never seen anything like that! There’s no way Minox can control that!”

  “He’s not,” she said. She pointed to the rope on his belt. “I was hoping you could anchor him back down.”

  “Maybe,” he said. “But—”

  “Just be ready,” she said, taking one end of the rope, quickly wrapping it around her waist. She held the shackles ahead of her and went toward Minox and Senek. The magic slammed at her, but went around the shackles like it was a rock in the river.

  She just had to push upstream.

  Seven steps. Every one of them impossible. It didn’t matter. She had to push through, save Minox. Stop these bastards. Make this city safe for her daughters, for Loren, for everyone.

  Another step. She was right next to Minox and Senek, both of them with hands around each other’s necks. Only one thing to do to save her partner.

  She grabbed Senek’s arm, even though it was like grabbing a snake made of fire. She held in the scream, held in the pain. She just needed another second.

  She brought up her other arm and clapped the irons on Senek’s wrist.

  Now it was his turn to scream.

  She pulled him off Minox and drove him to the ground. Knee on his back, she latched the other half of the irons on his other wrist.

  Still the tempest of magic did not cease. Minox was the center of the storm, spiraling around him.

  “WHERE?” he shouted. “TELL ME!”

  She unwrapped the rope from her belt, and prayed to Saint Deshar that Veranix Calbert was up to the task. Taking a deep breath, she lashed it around his hand.

  The storm of magic exploded to the sky, and it was all Satrine could do to stay on top of Senek, to grab hold of Minox’s body, keep him anchored.

  The
n the storm came rushing down, all pulling into Minox’s hand, sinking into it like water down a channel.

  And then it was all gone.

  Saint Bridget’s Square was near silent for a moment, save for Minox’s heavy breaths. She glanced over to the Thorn, holding the other end of the rope, being held up by the Rynax brothers and Dayne. All of them looked like Satrine felt. Impossibly spent.

  Then the silence was broken by a beautiful sound. Constabulary whistles cutting through the square. Emergency calls. She looked and saw dozens upon dozens of Constabulary regulars run up, grabbing zealots, tackling the beasts to the ground.

  “Let’s hear it for the Green and Red,” she said to Minox weakly.

  “Indeed,” he said.

  “Hey,” Veranix called. “I don’t know about you, but I am famished. There’s this great Fuergan place—”

  “Wait,” Minox said. Then a look of horror crossed his face, and he looked up to the machine.

  The rings were still spinning. It was still glowing. And Crenaxin still stood on top, pulsing and surging with energies.

  “Come my children!” he shouted in words that sliced across her bones. “Come to me and feed the fervent fire! COME!”

  Several of the constables stopped struggling with zealots. They all let go of each other and charged at the machine, diving at the cages. They clamored to get inside the cages, and as soon as they did, aged into dust with a look of rapture on their faces.

  And to her horror, Satrine almost—almost—wanted to join them.

  Asti and Verci ran over and pulled Satrine and Minox back to the rest of them.

  “What is this?” Dayne asked.

  On the platform, Crenaxin’s whole body began to shift and change. It grew to ten feet, twelve feet, fifteen feet tall. His skin became scaly and blackish-green. His face stretched and his mouth became full of teeth, as great wings burst forth from his back.

  “Come my vessels! We shall ascend! The Nine will rise! The world will burn for them!”

  Several of the beasts stood up, surrounding the machine as the magical energies flooded into them. Eight of them, one in front of each statue. Their bodies began to roil and shift as more of the zealots and constables and other civilians all fought each other for the privilege of throwing themselves in the cages.

  “Well,” Veranix said. “I guess we have to wait on the Fuergan place.”

  Chapter 24

  DAYNE COULD NOT COMPREHEND WHAT Crenaxin had become—scaled, winged, fanged, and the size of a house. In no way human anymore. And the beasts on the ground, linked to each other and the statues with beams of light, were starting to change as well.

  “So that’s the High Dragon,” Asti said.

  “Aladha va calix,” Minox said. He glanced over to Veranix.

  “Thought the same thing,” Veranix said. “I guess this is on me to finish.”

  Minox chuckled darkly. “I didn’t mean to imply that.”

  Dayne raised an eyebrow at them, but he didn’t have time to think about what they were talking about. The constables, the zealots, other civilians—they all were trying to get in the machine, sacrifice themselves to it. Crenaxin’s voice had driven them to it. The same sort of power that Ret Issendel had used at the Constabulary House, making everyone stop. But here they obeyed him to their death.

  “Why not us?” Dayne asked. “Why are the six of us immune to his power?”

  “The three of us already were,” Asti said. “And maybe you’ve beaten it.”

  “Doesn’t explain your brother and Inspector Rainey,” Dayne said. “Everyone else in the square is trying to kill themselves.”

  “Maybe that’s your answer,” Satrine said, looking over to the church.

  A cloistress—no, the same young woman from Saint Limarre’s the other evening—stood on the church steps, holding up a mace and a shield. Jerinne’s shield. Why did she have Jerinne’s shield? And she was screaming something, words Dayne couldn’t make out.

  “Her?” Veranix, Asti, and Verci asked in unison.

  “Sister Myriem,” Satrine said. “I think she . . .”

  “No!” Minox yelled, running over to the crowd of constables climbing into the machine.

  “That’s his brother,” Satrine said. “We need to stop them all before—”

  Crenaxin spread his wings and leaped off the platform, landing on the cobblestone with a resounding crash. Then he stalked toward the church.

  “Keep them out of the machines,” Dayne told Satrine and the Rynaxes. “Thorn—”

  “I know, I know,” he said. “I just need—there.” He dashed off to one of the shop stands that had been knocked over in the carnage.

  Dayne didn’t have time to wait, running over to the church steps. Crenaxin was almost on top of the girl, who, to her credit, didn’t budge from her position. Dayne closed the distance as fast as his legs would take him.

  “I abjure you!” she shouted. “I abjure you and your unholy doctrine! By Saint Alexis, I abjure you! By Saint Justin! By Saint Benton! By Saint Jesslyn! By Saint Deshar! By Saint Jontlen! By Saint Terrence! You shall be abjured!”

  Crenaxin roared and reared back, as if her words caused him pain. Maybe they did. Then Crenaxin swiped at her with his great clawed hand, in as much as it was still a hand. It scraped across the shield, tearing gashes in the metal. Jerinne’s shield. Where was she? Had she been killed? Did this girl pick up her shield when she fell?

  Myriem stood her ground.

  Then Crenaxin opened his mouth, and a blast of fire poured out of that giant maw.

  Dayne could abide no more. He drew his sword and drove it into Crenaxin’s side.

  It just scraped against his scaled body, but it got his attention. He turned his colossal head toward Dayne.

  “Ever the protector,” Crenaxin said, his voice now a deep rumble. “You could have been such a worthy vessel.”

  “Never,” Dayne swore. “I will stand to my last breath against you.”

  “Of course you will.”

  Dayne risked a glance to the church steps. Sister Myriem, despite the scorch marks on the shield, was unharmed. Good.

  But now Dayne needed to fight. For Jerinne. For Maresh. For the children lost to this lunatic. For the Tarian Order.

  For Maradaine.

  With shield on arm, with sword in hand. He would defeat this Dragon or die in the effort.

  A handful of goxies from the knocked-over stand had been enough to keep Veranix from passing out, but he had no idea how he was going to stop this thing. And yet, he knew—deep in his soul—he knew, somehow, it was on him. With three words in Sechiall, Minox had reminded him.

  Aladha va calix. The cursed beast from the old Kellirac story Veranix’s mother would tell him so many nights. Dark as the night, with an impenetrable hide, sharpest claws and wings of leather. The Dragon of Moshkar.

  Aladha va calix terrorized village after village. The warriors of Moshkar fell one after another to his might, until he was stopped by the mythical figure of Kellirac legend. The Kellirac demigod, the trickster who bound Aladha va calix. Pulled him to his cave and trapped him there.

  Veranix.

  This was the real story, Mother had said. The Druth church had corrupted the stories, changed them around to the Testament of Saint Veran, which bore little resemblance to the trickster of legend.

  In the story, the warriors had fallen, one after another. Dayne was fighting the thing, but he couldn’t last long against it. And if the other eight beasts finished their transformation, there would be nine of them. Worthy vessels of the Nine. An ascension. The constables and the Rynaxes were doing everything they could to stop that, or at least stop the other people from throwing themselves in the machine. They couldn’t do that forever.

  All of this was above his head. He wasn’t going to solve this with arrows and banter. He
needed a clear head. He needed Delmin.

  Delmin was in the church.

  Veranix ran over to the steps. The cloistress was still there, screaming a prayer with her mace held aloft.

  “Miss,” he said as he approached. “You’ve got to get out of here, I—”

  She stopped and looked at him, her harsh features suddenly breaking into a wide smile, tears in her eyes. She let the mace fall to the ground.

  “Veranix!” she said with warmth and joy. “I—I’ve missed you so much.”

  “You’ve what? How—”

  She touched his face gently. “I know you’re scared. I know you think you don’t have the answers. But you do. You know exactly what you need to do. Your mother told you the story.”

  All the fear and doubt in his heart melted away.

  She stumbled and stepped away, picking up the mace, but looking confused as she did. “I—I don’t know why I said . . . I don’t—”

  “It’s all right, Sister,” he said. “I think I understand.”

  She looked at him again, the kindness all gone from her face. Instead it was righteous fury. “It must be abjured. They cannot ascend.”

  “They won’t,” Veranix said. She was right, he knew. It was all clear now.

  Dayne was suddenly knocked through the air at them. Veranix whipped out his rope and caught him before he crashed into the side of the church, putting him down on the ground.

  “Thorn,” Dayne said, panting. “We need . . . we need . . .”

  “Easy, big guy,” Veranix said. Crenaxin was turning his massive dragon body toward them. “Get over to the machine. Help get Minox and Verci in there. Verci will have to shut it down, but before he does, Minox will have to connect himself to it again.”

  The sister stepped forward as Crenaxin charged at them, raising the shield and mace high as she shouted scripture.

  The Testament of Saint Veran.

  Dayne struggled to get on his feet. “But what are you—”

  “Just tell Minox to remember what we did with Enzin Hence,” Veranix said. “He’s going to do that again.”