Lark Ascending

by Meagan Spooner

  Basil and Oren both looked at Kris, who looked back for a long moment before looking at me. He opened his mouth to speak, but hesitated so long he had to let his breath out before trying again. “Lark,” he said slowly. “The people… they don’t understand what you did. They only know that you destroyed the magic.”

  “They don’t know that you saved them all,” Oren broke in, anger on my behalf making his skin flush dark.

  “They want justice.” Caesar’s voice was heavy.

  Numbness crept back in, sighing through my limbs until they hung like lead, the iron bird dangling from my fingertips. “You’re hiding me—from all of them.”

  “Give them time,” Basil said earnestly. “They’ll understand. They will. Oren will teach them to control the darkness as he does, and they’ll realize that they’re free. They’ll realize that you’ve given them back this world.”

  “They’ll understand… the way my parents did?” I glanced at Caesar, whose good eye met mine for only a fraction of a second before sliding away. I closed my eyes, the truth welling up like tears. “I can’t stay here, can I?”

  My answer came in silence; Oren was the only one who would meet my eyes, the winter-sky blue muted by the lantern flame.

  I swallowed. My voice sounded dull and empty. “I’m tired; I think I’d like to go back to bed.”

  • • •

  It took weeks for me to be able to use my hands again, and even then it was hard to do much of anything without pain. My struggle with Eve over the dome had burned the flesh from my palms, the heat so intense that even the backs of my hands were wrinkled and scarred. I had to teach myself again how to do the simplest of tasks. Kris removed a set of stitches from my cheek, a gash I’d forgotten getting in that final battle against Eve and the architects. I knew there was a scar there, that there’d always be a scar there; I knew that, between it and my hands, I looked like a monster. But Kris never blinked, and if Oren even noticed, he never said a word.

  Oren—Oren, who watched over me, Oren, whose faith never faltered. Oren, who never left my side unless he absolutely had to rest, letting my brothers take over the watch. Even Caesar, who struggled to be near me for long and never spoke, took his turn.

  It was late one night—or possibly midday, I had no way of knowing—that Caesar finally broke the silence between us. “I’ll always know what you did,” he said quietly.

  I looked up, bracing myself for censure.

  “Even if these people never understand.” He met my eyes, his gaze sober. Though the beard and the patch over his eye concealed his features, for a brief moment I could see past them. “I always will.”

  I didn’t reply, my throat too tight for words. I dropped my gaze, and when I managed to look up again, he’d returned to the book he’d been reading.

  Oren helped me learn to use my hands again, with a patience I never knew he possessed. And yet he was no less fierce, no less quick and wild—his fierceness was for me, for his belief that I could be whole again. He made me do stretches and exercises, curling my hands around his, squeezing until my eyes watered in pain. He kept at it, massaging the damaged tissue and nerve endings that would never fully heal, until slowly the scar tissue began to thin, and stretch, and give me hope that someday I’d be able to do again the things I’d taken for granted, like hold a pen, or turn a page, or slide my fingers in between Oren’s and let them nestle there, the way they were made to interlock.

  “But my face,” I whispered one night, touching the scar on my cheek with fingertips too swollen to feel it. “My hands. How can you stand to—”

  Oren leaned over to kiss me just beside my ear, where I could feel the change; the way his lips felt against the scar tissue was different from the flush of sensation in the healthy skin. “How could I stand not to?” He pulled back so I could see his face, and while I watched, he allowed a swirl of shadow to caress his features, flickering through his eyes and past his lips. “You’ve seen my face; do you love me any less?”

  His dedication only made my heart ache all the more. Part of me would have been happy to stay here forever, hidden underground with Oren, and with Kris and my brothers. But that was no life for them, and no life for Oren. And sooner or later, the people I’d saved would find me. I had to go. And the boy who’d struggled so long on his own had a home now—how could I expect him to give it up for me?

  Quietly, I began to make plans to leave the city. I knew Kris and Basil would understand; though I hadn’t been aboveground, I knew the city’s hatred for me must be strong indeed, if they’d rather see me banished than stay. But Oren—Oren wouldn’t understand. He couldn’t understand. He’d tell me to stay, to fight for myself, that I was strong enough to face down anyone in the world. And so I couldn’t tell anyone, for fear Oren would know, and stop me.

  Basil was staying only long enough to see me safe and help Kris reestablish order in the city above. Lethe was his home now, and though there was no longer a crisis of magic to deal with, someone would have to teach his people how to live in this new world, how to deal with the new aspects of themselves. Dorian had left some days before I woke up, planning to return to the Iron Wood. It stood empty now, but without the need to protect its people from the Institute, he expected them to return.

  Even Kris had his place; I saw less of him than the others, because he was helping to rebuild the government of the city. The Institute lay abandoned, in ruins, but most of the city was unharmed and, following the collapse of magic, in a panic. Kris’s charisma and talent for handling people were proving vital.

  I made mental lists of supply caches to raid on my way out, calculated my exit route, composed and discarded a thousand notes to leave for Oren. And I waited.

  It was midmorning, according to the time up above, when Oren next left my side to get some rest. This time Kris took over for him; my brothers were both up marshaling the crowd, preparing for a rally in which Kris would begin assigning new work orders to the city’s people. According to him they’d begun to adjust to having their darker sides manifest, now that the magic suppressing them was gone. There’d been incidents, but casualties were low. Kris was optimistic.

  I feigned sleep until he began to doze, cheek resting on one hand propped up against his knee. I lingered for a moment after I slipped out of bed, scanning Kris’s features. I thought he’d look older, wiser, more battered for our experiences; but he looked just the same as he always had, that brown hair tumbling down over his brow, the handsome features relaxed in sleep. I swallowed the urge to push his hair back and reached for my pack. The pack held my knife and the fire-starter I’d been carrying since Oren gave it to me all that time ago, when I was still a weakling, when I knew nothing of survival; when I was still just Lark.

  I quietly slipped the straps over my shoulders and reached for the door; but then I heard a sigh and the rustle of movement. Kris was awake.

  “Wait—Lark, where—” He blinked at me, frowning. “Where are you going?”

  I bit my lip, hesitating. I could tell him I was going for a walk, let him think I’d be back in an hour or two.

  But he read my answer in my hesitation, and confusion dimmed to understanding. “Are you sure you’re ready?” There was no sign of his old smile on his features.

  I flexed my fingers; they hurt only a little, and every day I could move them more. I could hold my knife; I could start a fire. I could survive on my own. But that wasn’t what Kris meant. “I think so.”

  “He’s going to try to follow you, you know.”

  I winced, glancing at the corner where Oren usually sat while I was asleep, watching over me. It was empty, but I could imagine him there anyway, quiet and unyielding. “I know. That’s why I’m leaving now. Don’t tell him, Kris—give me as much of a head start as I can get.”

  Kris’s features hardened a little. He didn’t approve, but he didn’t argue, either. I’d noticed that none of them argued with me anymore. They let me win every conversation, always, like I’d earned
some sort of free pass. It made my heart ache, made me long for the days when Caesar would call me stupid and Kris would protest my headstrong plans of action. It was like I was no more than a ghost already.

  “Thank you,” I said when he didn’t answer; I took his silence as acquiescence.

  “There’s food in the room next door,” he said, clearing his throat. “Now that people can gather food outside the Wall, they don’t much care about the rations left down here. That’s what we’ve been feeding you.”

  I swallowed hard. I’d been planning to detour to the old resistance caches and raid them for supplies—Kris had saved me valuable time. “You’re not going to try to tell me to stay, or to say good-bye to everyone?”

  The ghost of Kris’s smile flickered across his lips. “I know better than to argue with you.”

  I found myself smiling back, in spite of myself. We watched each other, and our smiles faded slowly, like drawings in the sand, washing out on the tide.

  “Lark,” he whispered, moving toward me. “I don’t… I don’t know if I ever truly apologized for my part in what was done to you.”

  My throat closed. I shook my head, looking down at the floor so he wouldn’t see my eyes growing wet, that even now the apology stung like fire. “You were doing what you thought was right.”

  “And I regret it every moment.” His fingertips sought my chin, lifted it, forcing me to meet his eyes. “Promise me you’ll come back to us, one day.”

  I stretched up onto my toes—I hadn’t realized how much taller Kris was than Oren—and leaned in to press my lips to his cheek. “I promise.”

  I stopped long enough in the room next door to fill my pack the rest of the way with Kris’s supplies, laying the fire-starter on top and tucking the knife into my boot. I’d regained my health in the days since I’d woken, but as I navigated the tunnels, I realized there was still a long way to go before I’d be fit again. Leaving the city this time would be only marginally easier than it had been the first time; I’d be just as weak. And this time I wouldn’t just be leaving my home, I’d be leaving my heart.

  It took all my strength to climb up the ladder and shoulder the hatch open. When light came pouring in, nearly blinding me, I realized I had no idea what the city above looked like anymore. As I dragged myself up to street level, I gazed around, blinking my streaming eyes. I lifted one hand to shield them from the light and gazed upward.

  The iron Wall overhead had shattered, great sections of it crumbling to rust and raining down on the city below. Some of it remained, jagged shards like eggshells standing as a reminder of what the founding architects had built here; this great technology, lost and now useless without the Resource—without magic.

  The sunlight poured down, warm and bright, and as my eyes adjusted, the gloom of the tunnels below began to drift away. I took a deep breath, tilting my head back and letting the wind carry away the last of the smell of darkness and damp.

  I headed through the empty city, keeping an eye out for anyone who might have skipped the rally. I saw no one, though, and after passing a few streets without incident, I began to breathe a tiny bit easier. Despite how easy it had been to sneak out, each step felt heavier than the last. I forced myself to ignore the ache in my bones and tried to keep myself from thinking about what I was doing. That I’d likely never see him again. That he’d never know why I left him here. That I’d written a dozen letters and thrown them all away, because how could I tell him that I loved him in the same breath that I told him I was leaving, perhaps forever?

  It was about half an hour’s walk to the edge of the city, still marked by the groove where the Wall had once stood. I slowed to a halt, staring at the line, my thoughts grinding to a halt and trickling away. Spring was in full bloom beyond the remnants of the Wall, flowering weeds winding up through the cracked pavement and dangling from crumbling eaves. It was beautiful, and yet I hesitated, unable to take that first step beyond.

  Then a wry voice split the quiet. “You’re still as easy to track as a wounded deer.”

  I jumped, whirling to find Oren a few paces behind me, his expression unreadable. My heart leaped at the sight of his face; all it knew was that it had wanted him, and he was here. It didn’t matter that it’d make saying good-bye a thousand times harder. I opened my mouth, but nothing came out when I tried to speak.

  “Well?” said Oren, taking slow, deliberate steps toward me. “No explanations, no apologies, no attempts to make me understand?”

  The morning sun caught his sandy hair, gilding it white-gold as it stirred in the breeze. In the light, his normally pale blue eyes looked brighter, more like the sky overhead, like windows through to the world beyond my city. I thought my ribs would crack from the pounding of my heart.

  For a long moment, neither of us said anything. Then I stepped forward, reaching for his hand to pull him closer. I stretched up on my toes and kissed him, soaking in the way he responded, the shape of his mouth fitting to mine, the hand that wound around my waist. I held onto that instant, memorizing it, storing every tiniest detail in my mind.

  Slowly, reluctantly, I dropped back down onto my heels again.

  Oren swallowed, forced to clear his throat before speaking. “What was that for?”

  “For you.” I smiled, scanning his face. His face seemed so different now from the one I knew when I first met him; the wildness, the savagery, the way his gaze had scared me so. And yet I could still see that wild boy in there, the angry, lonely, desperate boy who had saved my life. Who had made me whole. “And for me,” I added, smile turning a little wry. “So I don’t forget.”

  “Forget?” Oren’s expression darkened. “I knew you were going to do this,” he muttered. “Were you really going to sneak out like some kind of criminal? Lark, I’m coming with you.”

  I ignored the faint relief that someone, at least, was arguing with me, and closed my eyes. I couldn’t bring myself before to have this fight with him, but he had to know. He had to know it was all a dream, that I was right. Not speaking about it didn’t make it go away. Leaving words unsaid didn’t rob them of their truth.

  “Oren—I have to leave. I can’t change that. But you… you can stay here. You have a home, you have a place where you belong. You’re just like everyone else now, no shadow to hide, no secrets. It’s everything you’ve always wanted.”

  Oren didn’t answer, and after a moment of silence I opened my eyes to find him watching me, his expression far more thoughtful—and less angry—than I was imagining. He reached up, tracing with one finger the line scored across my cheek. “Lark,” he said slowly. “You’re the one who’s been searching for home all this time. Not me. You’re the one who’s been longing to fit in, to belong—to feel whole.”

  My eyes burned, and I shook my head. I couldn’t speak, wordlessly trying to deny what he was saying.

  He curled an arm around my waist and ducked his head, pressing his forehead against mine. “I already have a home.”

  A dark knot deep inside me, deeper than the shadow had been, tore its way free in response to his voice. The darkness rose up, carrying all my fears and lost dreams, everything I’d put aside so I could fight, so I could lead, so I could make the decisions that would save or shatter the world. And, like a shadow destroyed by the light, the darkness found Oren and fled. I dropped forward into his arms, letting him wrap me up and tuck my head below his chin. My shoulders shook, hands trembling, voice tangled in a sob.

  “My home is you,” Oren whispered, his arms tightening around me while I cried. “You think you’re alone—you think that’s your punishment for all of this, for being the one to save mankind from itself. You think I don’t see that, but I know you, Lark Ainsley. I know you.”

  I let out a shuddering breath. Tilting my face upward, I let the sun shine down on it, warming my skin and drying my tears. The sun’s rays warmed the pendant resting in the hollow of my throat, the tiny iron bird that I wore now always on a chain around my neck. “I am whole now,” I
whispered, not trusting my voice to speak aloud without breaking.

  Oren grinned that quick, fierce smile, then ducked his head to kiss me hard. Though his words were confident, I could feel his fear and relief in the strength of his embrace, the quick heat of his mouth.

  When he lifted his head, it was a long moment before I could speak again. I ran my scarred hands across his chest, loath to pull away, half afraid he was a figment of my broken heart. “How did you know to come find me?” I asked.

  “Kris woke me.”

  My mouth fell open. “K-Kris? But I told him—he promised he wouldn’t—”

  Oren’s mouth twitched, showing briefly an expression dangerously close to a smile. “Maybe he’s not quite as useless as I thought.”

  I didn’t know if I was furious at Kris or so grateful I could cry; I couldn’t help but wish better for him. Perhaps, in leading the city, he’d find purpose again. Maybe he’d find whatever he once thought I could give him.

  Oren released me except for one hand, which he kept custody of so he could press his lips to the puffy skin there. “So, what now?”

  I shook my head. “I… I don’t know. I want to find Eve.”

  Oren’s hint of a smile vanished. “Eve? She’s dangerous, and she’s mad. If she’s alive—just leave her.”

  I raised my eyebrows at Oren. “She’s no more dangerous than I am anymore. And… there’s just something about the shape of her mind, when I can sense her. I can’t feel that burning hatred. I feel… confusion, I feel fear. But I don’t feel anger.”

  Oren still didn’t look convinced. “Facing her nearly killed you.”

  “And it nearly killed her,” I replied. “We’re—we’re connected. Still, somehow. I can’t help Kris run the city, I can’t help Basil with Lethe, I can’t help my people adjust to their new lives. But before Gloriette, Eve was just a normal girl, like me. Maybe she is again, and if she is out there, there’s no one to help her. I can do that. We can do that. Maybe… maybe she’s the start of redemption.”