Blood, Ink & Fire

by Ashley Mansour

  “What are you talking about? What’s gone?”

  “Everything! Mount Memoria, the people, any evidence of the Risers. There’s nothing left!” Ledger catches his breath. “We’re too late. The eighth Sovereign’s been burned to the ground.”

  NOELLE

  FORTY-ONE

  I can barely see straight as I stumble around the fire, throwing supplies into the backpack and fitting the volumes in with them.

  “Noelle, calm down,” Ledger is saying. “We’ll come up with a plan.”

  “There isn’t time!” I shout. “This time tomorrow my grandfather stops breathing. I have to get those volumes.”

  “Even if you get the ninth volume, you’ll still be missing Mount Memoria’s.”

  “Scythe will accept eight out of the nine.”

  “What if he doesn’t?”

  “He will!” I shout. “I will make him accept it.”

  “Stop! You’re not being rational,” Ledger says. “Let’s just come up with a plan together.”

  “I already have a plan,” I say, suddenly clearheaded. “I’m going to Fault’s End. I’m going for the last volume. I’m getting the antidote.”

  “This is crazy! It’s over a day’s journey. You can’t go alone!”

  “I have to.”

  “Let me go. I can get there faster.”

  “No. Scythe will be waiting for me. I have to negotiate with him myself. It’s the only chance I have left to save my grandfather.”

  I go to Grandpa. His eyes are closed, his breathing labored again. I place my hands on his chest and listen to his lungs.

  “I don’t understand,” I say to Ledger. “We were talking just a moment ago.”

  “You were?” Ledger looks worried.

  “Yes! We were talking about the stars, and he was telling me things.”

  “That may have been his swan song. You know, the light before . . . He may not have very long now.”

  I hug Grandpa tightly and feel my eyes tear up. “I’m going to Fault’s End. Hang on. For me.”

  “Elle, wait!” Ledger says. But the watch reads 23:12:09. No more waiting.

  “Don’t leave him alone,” I tell Ledger. “I don’t want him to be alone.”

  Ledger reaches for me, but I move away. “Not like this,” I say. “Not the last time.”

  He pulls back. “Okay.”

  In just over an hour, I’m walking west, the dawn behind me. Mount Memoria is a purple shadow looming like a reminder. When I reach the road, I follow it until the forest thins out and the vegetation turns golden brown. I wind through the valley, following the stream on the map, even though it’s hardly a stream now. I stop to fill the canteen. My watch reads 21:56:00.

  The stream borders the forest, and finally it disappears under layers of fallen leaves. I kick them away with my boots to find water. Soon the stream evaporates, becoming just a groove in the earth. The rift widens, deepens, becoming thick as a rat’s tail. The beginning of the fault line. I follow it all morning until it’s the width of my leg. My watch reads 20:18:55.

  Midday. The heat rises at my back. I tie John’s jacket around my waist and let my boots kick through the earth as I trudge through the trees. Sweat drips into my eyes and blurs my vision. It runs down my back, soaking my shirt. I resist checking my watch for as long as I can. The numbers become terrifying. When the sun arcs all the way out in front of me due west, I check it. 16:46:02.

  I stop and spread the map on the earth. I’ve been walking nearly seven hours straight. I’m at least two hours from Fault’s End. That’s nine hours there and nine hours back if I walk without stopping. Eighteen hours total, assuming it takes no time to find the volume and get it in my possession and make the trade with Scythe for the antidote. But we don’t have eighteen hours. There’s no way I can get there and back with the medicine to my grandfather in time.

  Unless you run.

  The odds are against me, but I have to try. I tighten the pack around my waist and decide to ditch my boots. They’re too heavy and will blister my feet. I take them off, bare feet hitting the muddy terrain. As I run, I start devising a system to keep myself going. I count to five hundred at first, then stop, drink, and set off again. I do this until five hundred becomes too much, so I break it down, running to the count of one hundred, then stop and walk thirty steps. One hundred running. Thirty walking. One hundred running. Thirty walking. One hundred running. Thirty walking. I focus on the rhythm of my movements and the counting, finding comfort in the repetition and the assurance that I’m heading in the right direction.

  The sun lowers in the distance, making the fault line I’m following feel even wider than it is, as if it could open up and swallow me whole. My watch reads 15:45:13. I don’t stop for anything. One foot lands, another lifts. Over and over. Each time I want to stop, I look at the numbers of my grandfather’s life ticking away.

  You’re going to make it. He will live. You’re going to get there in time. I refuse to think of any other outcome.

  I continue on until the map itself becomes useless. It’s clear where I’m headed. The fault line is a deep gorge now, wide at both ends. I know I’m coming to the end. Soon it will split, becoming something broad and cavernous. Fault’s End. I stumble on, hoping to see something that would indicate I’m nearing the Sovereign proper. I follow the left side of the fault, searching the overgrowth for signs of civilization. Up ahead, I spot light breaking through the trees, the dusk casting orange shadows into what seems to be a clearing. I pick up speed and run toward it. 15:00:00. Running is all I have now. My feet hit the earth, over and over and over. Until they don’t.

  I break through the trees and feel a whoosh of air greeting me from the endless drop before me. My stomach tightens and drops, and I grasp wildly, searching for something, anything, to cling to. My toes hit the edge. I grab at the branches until my hand catches, and I steady myself on the verge of a dismal cliff.

  Below me, a deep canyon yawns, revealing miles of gray rock. Another step and I would have fallen thousands of feet to my death. Across the canyon, I see a sign carved into the rock face: “The End” is all it says. So this is where the Sovereign gets its name.

  I pull myself back, getting my bearings. The Sovereign is all the way on the other side of the canyon, separated from me by a sheer, terrifying drop. I’m on a ledge that juts into the canyon, overlooking a half-mile-wide gorge to my left. The bottom of the gorge is so obscured by distance I can’t make it out.

  I slip back into the trees and open the map on the forest floor to search for another route. I hear a noise behind me. Branches breaking. Ground crunching. I stand and fold the map, keeping my eyes on the direction of the sound. In seconds, I’m flying headfirst toward the ground. “Ugh!” The side of my head smacks the earth, and everything starts to spin. I shut my eyes. When I open them, the world is hazy, like looking through milky glass.

  I roll on to my side, coating myself in a thick layer of mud, then stare at the footprint next to me. I don’t even need to turn around to see the figure that made it. Because I already know: Scythe is here.

  “It’s the end of the road,” he says. “Where are the volumes?”

  I push myself up, meeting his gaze. His eyes have been painted the color of the mud, his cheeks an earthy color like the cliff edge. He’s in camouflage from head to toe.

  “I have seven of them,” I declare, hoping, praying they will be enough.

  “Seven? What good is seven?”

  “It’s better than nothing,” I say boldly. “After all, you must know Mount Memoria is gone.”

  Scythe tilts his head, appraising me like a wolf about to tear into its own cub. “Gone? What do you mean gone?”

  “I mean it’s been burned. There’s nothing left up there.”

  Scythe’s eyes light up, as if he’s temporarily amused. Then his face falls. “Gone or not, your time is up, boolo.”

  “Fine. Let’s make a deal.”

  “We already did that,” he sne
ers, pulling the chemi-taser from his holster. “See, Mr. Cadge is feeling impatient. He wants you. There’s no denying that.”

  “What about our deal? I can still get the last volume!”

  “No, I don’t believe you can.” The chemi-taser lights, and sparks flit in the air. “Looks like you failed, little sister. It’s time.”

  He lunges toward me. With a quick reflex, I duck and roll through the mud, then bolt into the foliage. I somersault onto the path, then run as fast as I can toward the edge. He’s gaining on me. I feel it in the hairs standing upright on my body as he approaches from behind. Be calm. This is what you trained for.

  I stop and wait in the underbrush as Scythe surges toward me. My heart explodes against my rib cage, my blood pounding a million decibels louder than I can bear. But I stay calm and quiet so that when I see him coming, I leap up, taking careful aim. I spin my fist toward him with all my might. I land it into his neck where Mac showed me, stopping the flow of blood in his carotid artery. Scythe falls to the earth stunned. His eyes flash with rage as he roars my name.

  I aim for his skull, kicking wildly until he grabs my ankle and pulls me down. I spot the chemi-taser and scramble through the mud toward it as he yanks me back. I claw the dirt, screaming. My arms beat frantically at the ground, grabbing for the weapon. If I have this, I have a chance.

  The cold metal of the Taser meets my fingers. I pull it toward me, grasping it with all my might. I aim it at Scythe, and instantly, he lets go.

  “You stupid little fool,” he says. “You don’t know how to use one of those.”

  I click the charger at the side of the weapon and direct it at his face. The familiar ratcheting of the chemical reflects in his eyes. “Of course I know how. I had a pretty good lesson.”

  I get to my feet and direct Scythe to stand. “Get up!” I yell. “Walk toward the cliffs.”

  Scythe doesn’t move. He raises his arms, his fingers splayed. “You know what? I don’t think I want to do that.”

  He spins toward me. I pull the trigger, releasing a blue voltage at him. He swoops below it, grabbing the Taser from my hands before rolling through the mud away from me. He clicks, points, and aims. My feet leave the earth as the voltage zips through the air behind me. A blue light searches the trees, narrowly missing my back, but I don’t turn around. The fact is, I’m not going to die this way, at the hands of Fell. I won’t let them have me like this. I won’t let them have me at all. If I go, it will be my way.

  I spot the gray canyon through the trees, the branches that saved me the last time, and run toward them. I feel the breath of him on my neck, and hear the crack of the Taser cutting the air behind me. The leaves whip my face as I head breathlessly into the green. I know the edge is just a few steps beyond, but I don’t care. I just keep running.

  My feet hit the air. The great canyon glows red now in the dying light, welcoming me into it as I jump, clinging to the pack of volumes as though it might open and knit together a parachute from their pages. The air hits my face as I begin to fall. That’s when I realize everyone was wrong. I won’t surrender to Fell or fight back. Like the stories that were written, like the books that were read, I, too, would simply end.

  NOELLE

  FORTY-TWO

  The pack wrenches up as the falling world slows and stops. My body cracks against the cliff. I reach up and find arms holding me. I struggle and pull to free myself from their grasp.

  “Stop!” a voice shouts. “That’s not helping things.”

  I look up at the wide-set brown eyes and corn-yellow hair of the woman holding me. The grooves around her eyes crinkle as she strains under my weight. I’m simply hanging over the edge of the cliff like a rag doll. A rag doll in shock.

  “A little help here?” she says.

  I pull against the cliff edge and climb toward her. The woman grunts as she hauls me up, the veins in her neck and forehead protruding. I snap out of it and reach for the edge, grabbing tree roots with my hands any way I can.

  “You’re going to have to do better than that if you want to live!” The woman yanks me up and pulls me to my feet. She bounces up and whips out a long golden rod from a sling on her back. She wields it, forming a large circle in the air. “Stay down,” she says. “We’ve got a live one with this guy.”

  Scythe bursts through the trees, unleashing the voltage of the chemi-taser toward her. He slices the earth at her feet, setting the forest floor ablaze.

  “Nice one,” she says, wiping her mouth with her arm. She tilts her head to the side. “Tell me, is starting fires the only thing they teach you petrol-heads?”

  Scythe grunts and cracks the air with his Taser. The woman ducks and drops to all fours, then somersaults with her golden rod. It spits a hot white tip of current from the end, slicing the air with heat.

  “Problem with chemi-tasers,” she says, rolling to her feet, “is the range.” She swings the golden rod, its white-hot current knocking the Taser from Scythe’s fist. He falls, holding his searing flesh with his left hand.

  “Stings, doesn’t it?” she says, walking toward him. She whips a chain from her waist and snaps it through the air with practiced ease. The metal hits Scythe across the right cheek, sending him backward into a tree. He sits stunned, looking at us.

  “Now, then. I imagine you’re looking for these.” The woman reaches into a brown satchel at her feet and pulls out two books. I feel my heart nearly explode at the sight of them. The last two volumes of Mount Memoria and Fault’s End, numbers VIII and IX. Scythe reaches for them, but she whips the chain, striking him in the chest.

  “Not so fast. We’ve got some technicalities to iron out.” She turns to me, keeping her golden rod pointed at Scythe’s chin.

  I get up and walk toward her with the backpack. “I have the other seven.”

  “Seven and two make nine. Now, I think you owe us something.”

  “Where’s the antidote?” I shout.

  Scythe levers himself up with the tree and pulls a leather choker from his neck. A tiny vial dangles at the center. “Here,” he growls, holding it between his thumb and forefinger.

  “Take it,” the woman tells me. I inch toward him.

  “Easy does it, big man,” she scolds him. “You pull any stunts or spill any of that stuff, and I’m going to have to bang you up. I don’t like to get my chains dirty this late in the day.”

  Scythe’s fingers wrap around the vial. His long black hair hangs across his face, barely hiding the glare in his eyes. He points at me furiously. “My deal is with her.”

  “Fair enough,” says the woman. “Noelle, give me the books.” I take off the pack and throw the bag to the woman, who catches them midair. “Now, then. You give that vial there to Noelle, and we won’t have any problems.”

  Scythe smiles. “What? This?”

  The woman nods and brandishes her weapon. “Don’t do anything stupid, gutter-trash.”

  I reach toward him and grab the precious vial, examining its liquid. The woman throws her volumes into the pack and makes to hand it off to Scythe. I grab her arm, stopping her. “Wait,” I say. “We don’t have to do this.”

  She looks at me, her eyes full of pain. “If not now, when? They won’t stop and you know it.”

  “Please, we have the vial. Let’s just get out of here.”

  The woman sighs. “You’re right.” She takes a breath, stills, then jabs at Scythe. She grunts, wielding the rod across his chest so that a single letter burns, marking his flesh. M. He clenches his jaw, his body shuddering as it falls against the tree.

  “That’s for Lady M,” she cries. “Now if you follow us, I will shove this weapon of mine somewhere you really don’t want it to be. Do we understand each other?”

  Scythe takes one look at me. “Oh, we understand each other perfectly.” He rises to his feet. “But I don’t think Mr. Cadge will appreciate the girl’s betrayal. I wonder how he’ll decide to take it out on the Sovereigns . . .”

  “Wait! I’ll honor our
deal,” I say. “I’ll surrender. As soon as the antidote works and I save my grandfather. I’ll come to you. With the books.”

  “You’ll come to me?” Scythe sneers. “No, I don’t think so.”

  The woman places a protective hand across my body and lifts the golden rod. Scythe steps up to it, letting the hot white tip sear his chest. The smell of his burning flesh hits me as the rod bores a hole into him. “We came for the volumes. And when we’re good and ready, we will come for you, too.”

  *

  We head south of the fault line on foot. I’m eager to get away from Scythe and the gray canyon. When we’re back under tree cover, she starts talking.

  “So, you made a deal with the devil, and now you have to pay for it, eh?” the woman says.

  “Something like that,” I whisper. “Thanks for, for what you did back there. That was pretty incredible.”

  “No sweat.” She wipes her brow with her forearm. “Actually a little sweat. We need to move.”

  “Aren’t you going to tell me your name?”

  The woman stops, blowing her hair off her forehead with a swift whistle of air. “I thought you knew. It’s Denmark.”

  The name hits me heavily, sending me back into that dark place for some inexplicable reason. The place where stories are told inside of me that barely make sense and also are the only things that do make sense. “Denmark?” I ask tentatively.

  Her smile broadens with a strange familiarity.

  “You don’t know? I thought they told you,” she says. “The other Risers. Macbeth and Lady M.”

  “Told me what?”

  “I’m sorry we have to meet like this, in such difficult circumstances. But you should know: we’re related.” She stops a second to turn around, just long enough to say, “Prospero was my mother.”

  NOELLE

  FORTY-THREE

  Get in.”

  I nearly burst into tears when I see Denmark’s evergreen pickup truck. In moments, we’re tearing along the track toward Mount Memoria, the same path that had taken me hours to travel on foot. I bounce in my seat as we take the bumpy roads, beginning our ascent. Her eyes stay focused on the road, and only when nightfall comes and she stops to turn on her headlights does she flash me a smile and say, “We still have time.”