by Jade Mere
“Zinc,” Dyraien’s voice hissed over the wind and cries. “Why are you still here?”
Zinc didn’t move. He stared at the reverse waterfall, at Gotem, at everything but Dyraien. It wasn’t until Dyraien leaped across the room and brought his fist across Zinc’s face that the man broke his fixation.
“Turn the machine on,” Dyraien commanded.
Zinc fled the room without being told again. Both Tahki and Dyraien turned their attention back to the water as Gotem fell to the floor, landing directly in the middle of the obsidian X. The monk’s eyes were wide and his chest rose and fell, but he didn’t appear conscious. And then, over the monk’s body, Tahki saw another surge of energy. It sparked, like a match trying to ignite. Once, twice, three times, and then the air tore like paper in front of Tahki’s eyes. The tear started small, and then it grew.
Tahki was a man of logic. He’d accepted Pooka’s existence, even his encounter with Nii, because there might have been explanations for those. He might have been able to reason with their existence. But as the tear expanded and he saw what looked like a world made of water and glass and stars on the other side, he could think of no explanation. He didn’t know if the Dim existed, but this thing, this place that looked like no place at all and every place at once, was real.
Tahki felt his body lurch. The woman holding him cried out, and Tahki saw Rye elbow her in the face. He stood, fists clenched, eyes wild.
“The castle,” Rye said. “Shut it down. I’ll hold Dyraien here. We need to stop this thing from growing.”
Tahki swallowed. It amazed him Rye could think so clearly when the world had broken apart in front of their eyes. Tahki wanted to say something romantic, like “I’m not leaving you” or “we’ll make it out of this together.”
“Go!” Rye yelled.
And Tahki bolted for the door without another word.
HE RAN and tried not to think about what he’d just seen. Instead, he concentrated on Zinc. In the entryway, he almost stopped when he saw the golden cylinder, skewering the castle like a hunter’s spear. It ran from the third floor all the way down to the basement. This wasn’t part of his design. The cylinder looked to be made of brass. Lines ran horizontally through it, like layers of a cake stacked on one another. The base appeared ten feet wide.
He sprinted up the stairway, his reflection elongating in the golden cylinder. It had to be a conduit of some kind, something Dyraien added to transfer power to the basement. He reached the circular room, the only room on the third floor, and when he walked inside, his breath caught in his throat. He’d only seen the room empty and only entered it to take measurements. Before, the room had been unremarkable, another unused, uninhabited space.
Now, it looked like a room you could control the world from.
The room had been converted to match his exact architectural designs. An intricate system of metal and glass and minerals covered nearly every inch of wall and floor. Twelve glass cylinders, each the size of his body, had been built into the walls. Pipes ran both inside and outside the obsidian. He could see them through the dark glasslike walls, as though they’d been frozen in black ice.
The glass cylinders, lined with a gold casing, boiled water to produce steam, which was then forced into the pipes. They had been made from lightning glass—Dyraien’s idea—and could withstand extreme heat. The needles inside the temperature gages ticked upward. He’d been most proud of the piston valve. He’d modified his design from the steam locomotive he’d seen at the fair. It controlled the steam moving into the cylinders.
Tahki stepped forward and pressed his palm flat against one of the glass chambers. The thump of boiling water felt like a heartbeat. Water filled the pipes like blood filled veins. The firebox at the far end of the room inhaled coal and exhaled flames.
This wasn’t a prototype or a schematic. It was real. A living thing. And it was his.
He’d spent years dreaming of the moment when his designs would come to life, but he’d never pictured it would be such a perfect blend of power and beauty. No one in the world had done something like this. His mother would have been proud of him.
But then he saw a series of smaller pipes that had been connected to circular outlets all along the wall, and a clear pipe that pumped water from below. He remembered the waterwheel outside. Dyraien had installed a siphon to bring water up from the river to convert to steam. Tahki had designed the machine to power multiple areas all over the castle. But instead of multiple points, Dyraien had all the steam funneled into the golden cylinder, which would carry all this power down into the basement.
That was how he planned to keep the Dim open. Not just by using the steam’s power, but by converting the sacred waters into a searing, concentrated jet of steam. If sacred waters had been used to open the Dim in the first place, they could also be used to keep it open.
Tahki had to turn it off. He searched for the control levers. Two red levers should have been installed to release coal. As he searched the room, a hiss and a screech sounded from outside the door. He moved out into the hallway and followed the path around to the other side of the circular room. There he saw Zinc pulling the levers, a piece of paper in his hand—probably instructions on which levers to pull. He struggled with the last lever, a third lever that hadn’t been part of Tahki’s design.
Tahki didn’t have any weapons. Just his mother’s pencil, but the pencil wouldn’t do much damage.
He bit his lip. The levers had been positioned near the railing. If he could sneak up and hit Zinc where Pooka had injured him, he might be able to knock him over the side. If the fall killed him, Tahki would be a murderer.
He’d reconcile with his conscience later.
He moved from the doorway. The hum of the machine blocked the sound of his boots. When Zinc’s body was in reach, Tahki threw himself forward, aiming his elbow into Zinc’s side. But Zinc turned at the last moment, and instead of shoving the man over the edge, Tahki only managed to make him stumble. Zinc didn’t even cry out. He simply grabbed Tahki’s neck and brought his knee hard into his stomach. Air left Tahki’s body in a great heave, and he curled into a ball on the floor. He gasped and clawed at the marble. His own spit caught in his throat and he gagged.
“I swear,” Zinc said. “When I’m done here, I’m going to burn your fucking body alive.” He turned back to the levers and grasped the third one again. This time, he threw his body into it. His face twisted in pain as the lever jabbed into his wound, but he didn’t stop. Again and again he heaved his body into it, until the lever finally gave way.
Tahki heard thunder inside the castle. He managed to pull himself into a sitting position. The giant golden cylinder moaned and whistled and shook. The hinges rattled, and for a moment he thought the entire thing might explode. Inside the circular room, the conduits bubbled and metal tapped against metal.
And then the golden cylinder roared, filling with steam that would be sent into the basement with deadly pressure. Tahki stared in wonder at this thing he had created. At this monster that shook the ground beneath them. It was frightening, and it was beautiful, and it would be used to slice the world open.
Zinc lifted Tahki off the ground by his hair. Even injured, Zinc was stronger than him.
“Time to burn,” Zinc said between gritted teeth.
He dragged Tahki back into the circular room and dropped him in front of the firebox. Tahki tried to stand, but Zinc kicked him in the face. His head smashed against the wall. Zinc yanked open the iron door to the firebox, where coal burned in a massive flame. The chamber was a good six feet by six feet, and the heat rolling out of it was strong enough to singe his skin.
Terror flooded Tahki as Zinc pulled him up and positioned him in front of the firebox. Zinc grinned, yellow teeth glinting in the light of the fire, eyes moist and unblinking. Tahki’s back burned. Sweat broke out all across his body. He could feel the flames licking the back of his head.
As Zinc heaved his body into the firebox, Tahki’s right
hand flew back and held the iron door. The metal burned so badly Tahki could only see white for a moment, but as his right hand prevented his body from falling into the chamber, his left hand reached into his pocket. He gripped his mother’s pencil and swung it as hard as he could into Zinc.
This time, Zinc cried out and stumbled. The pencil dug a good inch into the tender part under his earlobe. Tahki tried to run, but Zinc reached out and snagged his shirt. Tahki tried to free himself, and they struggled and spun in a small circle for a moment, until Tahki’s back was against the wall. He slammed his fist into the pencil by Zinc’s jaw. Zinc released him and fumbled again.
Tahki didn’t hesitate. He brought his legs up and kicked Zinc in the stomach. Zinc’s legs hit the low rim of the firebox, and he fell back into the flames. His screams filled the room as the flames consumed him. Tahki watched Zinc twist and squeal, a sound he’d never forget. The cries finally ceased when Zinc’s body collapsed into the fiery coals.
Tahki panted on the ground and kicked the door closed. His right hand pulsed bright red, and his face felt like he’d lain out in the summer sun for a week. Though the screams had stopped, Tahki still heard them in his mind. With great effort, he managed to drag himself up. He limped out to the levers. The golden cylinder shook and growled.
Tahki stood over the third lever. He needed to shut it off. But after he shut it off, what then? What would prevent someone from turning it back on? Zinc was dead, but Dyraien still had men on his side. Nothing would prevent Dyraien from doing this same thing again. The only way to be sure the Dim stayed closed would be to destroy the castle. Destroy his greatest achievement.
Tahki swallowed. He reached out and touched one of the levers. They felt smooth and cool beneath his burned hand. He remembered designing them so no one would have to manually load coal into the chamber. Dyraien had beamed at this idea and called him brilliant. His conduit system was a part of the castle now, which made the castle a part of him. His creation. His masterpiece. His dream.
He remembered then the words his mother had spoken to him the evening she died, before the fire had started.
“Why do you like inventing so much?” Tahki had asked her. “Wouldn’t you rather be off playing games or swimming in the oasis with the empress?”
His mother had smiled that patient smile she always seemed to have and replied, “The greatest life one can live is the life of a creator. Whether you’re creating a life, a song, or a machine, you are bringing something new into existence. You are helping the world grow.”
With her words in mind, Tahki pulled the lever.
He used his left hand to yank the first lever all the way down, and then he moved the second, and then the third. From inside the circular room, he heard the conduits shake harder and harder, like someone was in there beating them with a hammer. He had pushed the levers all to their maximum output levels. None of them were supposed to be pushed that far, not all together. It would overheat the water chambers and flood the system. The entire thing would cave in on itself and destroy the inner support structure.
The castle would be destroyed the same way he’d accidentally destroyed the temple.
As the strain on the conduits increased, he heard glass crack, metal clank, water and fire collide with each other. He sprinted from the room, through the hallway, down the stairway. One of the bolts on the golden cylinder blew out like a bullet and almost hit him. Steam whistled out the hole. More bolts trembled and blew.
Tahki tried to reach the basement to warn Rye, but the golden cylinder screeched, and a powerful wave of steam knocked him on his back. He scrambled to his feet and watched as the top floor fell, crumbling in front of the door to the basement. He turned and ran from the entryway, dodging falling obsidian and copper pipes and marble, until he was out the front door.
The cold air struck him hard as he loped outside. His head throbbed, and sour bile rose in his throat. He didn’t stop until he heard a tremendous roar, and he turned to watch the black spires of the castle collapse. The obsidian didn’t break apart like normal stone. It shattered, the way a tall vase hitting stone shatters. Each spire dropped one after the other.
Tahki watched, his eyes thick with tears, his heart racing as he prayed Rye would be safe in the basement, that the tunnels would hold against the weight of the castle. The remainder of the castle fell not in a fiery, explosive heap but in a snuffed-out manner, slow and sinking.
And then it caved in. The obsidian, the marble, the golden cylinder, the dining table and stove and other furniture, all sunk. It fell below the dirt, into the basement. Onto the black gates.
Tahki gasped, trembling. The castle buried everything. Rye and Gotem and Dyraien. Steam and dust rose from the pile, and the world fell into a terrible silence.
For a moment, Tahki heard only the sound of the river. The castle had dammed it, and water started to flood in all directions. He ran to the destruction, waded into the water, into the black gunk that covered everything. He didn’t care about drowning, about how the mud sucked at his feet. When the water touched his chin, he turned away and climbed onto a pile of sharp obsidian. It cut his hands, his leg, his chest. He stared into the darkness.
“Rye?” he said. “Rye? Rye!” He screamed until his voice was nothing more than a pitiful wail. He turned left and right. He dug deep through the debris. Sweat and blood and snot fell from his face. “Oh gods,” Tahki whispered. “Please… please… oh gods.”
The pile he sat on started to slide into the water. He scrambled away and used one of the wooden doors to steady himself. There was nothing he could do. The muck was too dense to even begin to sort through. He waded back onto land and collapsed in the dirt. Tears fell down his cheeks. He grabbed his head, dug his fingers into his grimy hair.
He should have stayed with Rye. They should have destroyed the castle together. Or maybe he should have gone home after his encounter with Nii, or he should have told Rye sooner, or he should have written to his father, or… or… or….
Something burst from beneath the water. A massive black shape dragged its body from the wreckage. Tahki tried to stand, fell, tried again, and found his balance. Pooka limped toward him. Her right side looked torn open, like something had taken a huge bite out of her. She panted and shook water from her coat. Something attached itself to her back and side. Not something, somebody. Three bodies clung to her, black grunge covering them. For a second, Tahki pictured Zinc, charred black from the fire, clawing his way out of the chamber.
He shook away the feeling and ran to the cat. “Rye.” He put his arms around Rye and eased him to the ground. There was no word in the Dhaulenian language nor in the Vatolok dialect that could describe the tremendous feelings of relief and elation Tahki felt then. Rye’s breath was unsteady, but he had strength to open his eyes and smile.
Tahki faced the other person, who was covered in black mud from head to toe and holding a third body.
“Sornjia,” Tahki said. “How did you…. What are you doing here?” The bullet wound on his shoulder bled.
“Pooka said you needed help,” Sornjia replied in a hoarse voice. He set the limp body down. A bit of blond hair popped through the gunk, and an immediate rage rose inside Tahki. He swiped up a shard of obsidian and raised it over Dyraien’s unconscious body.
Rye coughed. “Tahki, no.”
“He almost killed us!”
“We need him alive, to answer for his crimes.” Rye’s voice sounded so weak, like he barely hung on to consciousness himself.
Tahki had never wanted to take someone’s life so badly, not even Zinc’s.
“Tahki,” Rye whispered. “If we don’t take him alive, we might be blamed for the queen’s death. We need to turn him over to the council.”
Tahki sighed. He tossed the shard away and slumped beside Rye.
Rye shut his eyes.
Tahki wondered if Rye had other reasons for saving Dyraien, but he let the thought slide away. They were safe, and for now, that was enough.
Chapter 16
THEY SAT in the dirt, the three of them too tired to stand. Sornjia had rinsed his shoulder with river water upstream. He bled slowly now, but Rye said it wasn’t life-threatening. Rye had broken his index finger on his left hand and found a piece of wood to brace it. All his other bruising appeared superficial. Tahki pressed his palm gently into the cool dirt. The cold grains soothed the tender skin from his burn, but not enough to take the pain away. Dyraien, least battered of them all, breathed slow, shallow breaths, and Tahki hoped he’d never wake up.
Out of all of them, Pooka looked most damaged, but she tended to herself, licking her wounds. Occasionally, a small bundle of oily eels would slither to the surface of her fur to suck on the bloody parts. Tahki didn’t even flinch at the sight of them.
He glanced to Sornjia. His brother looked gaunt, like he’d been drained. He hadn’t looked this bad when Zinc shot him. His eyes appeared a dull gray-green. Something was wrong with him, beyond the exhaustion he must be feeling from the fight. When Tahki tried to ask, Sornjia said he was fine. No smile, just a blank stare, his body tense, his nails digging into his arms.
When Rye finally spoke again, his words were slow, jagged. “After you left, your brother showed up with the cat. The cat, I mean Pooka, fought Zinc’s men while Sornjia and I stopped Dyraien from entering that… that place.” Rye stared down at the dirt as he spoke. “The pathway started to close. Dyraien panicked. He tried to climb inside, but Sornjia grabbed him. They both touched it. They touched the other world.”
Tahki looked at his brother. “You mean you saw it? You saw the Dim?”
Sornjia didn’t say anything.
“I’m not sure what happened.” Rye gave Sornjia a wary glance. “It was like something out of a dream. Dyraien started to enter, and Sornjia stopped him. But when he did, when Sornjia touched the path, it was like… it was like… all the stars in the sky opened themselves up inside him. I thought he was going to die with all that energy passing through. It was like the energy shifted from Gotem to Sornjia, and he just—”