Inch by inch, he extracted himself from his crushing prison until finally, he kicked free of the rock womb. He flopped down in the ash, body scraped raw and bloody.
As he stared up at the sky, something caught his eye.
A single ray of sunlight penetrated the ever-present clouds and shone down on him, warm and golden on his skin.
Another tower fell, sending up a cloud of ashy dust in the distance.
He had to keep moving. His hands clutched the fragile thread of magic, following the lifeline to its promised haven.
He wasn’t going to give up. He wasn’t going to give in.
You can’t survive on spite forever, little witch.
“I can try,” Kanruo hissed as he approached the tree that imprisoned countless relics, including his own weapon.
He curled the thread of magic in his hand, twisting it into a cat’s cradle as he focused. The warm energy of the ether coursed through him. It was like being home again. The longer he held on, the more powerful the connection became. It filled him with hope.
The amber peeled open, shedding like snakeskin, expelling the sacred items.
Another tower of the citadel crumbled.
Kanruo knelt before the pile. He extracted his pendant from where it had tangled around a poppet. Knotting the cord, he slipped it back over his head. It was just like pulling on a well-worn pair of leather boots, comfortable and reassuring.
He picked up his sickle and wound the magical cord around it, securing his connection to the ether. Briefly, he rested his hands over the remaining tools.
“Goddess, please let them find peace,” he murmured.
He had to run, but to where?
Trust your magic, little supernova, Notia’s voice echoed in his mind.
With a trembling hand, he reached out. Another ray of sunlight ruptured the cloud cover. Then another and another, each one punching holes in the gray, revealing a blue sky beyond it. The light cast a protective circle around him as the ether poured into the forsaken world.
Tears leaked from his eyes as he stared up at the light.
Take me somewhere, anywhere, he pleaded voicelessly. Anywhere was better than here.
The world around him faded out until only a speck of light concentrated before him. It grew, spinning and twisting as it did. White, orange, blue, and black glittered within its depths as the portal’s spiraling arms opened, welcoming him. His outstretched hand brushed against it, and it rippled, ticklish to his touch.
Pushing aside all hesitation, he exhaled long and hard, forcing his apprehension to leave his lungs. Then, Kanruo stepped through the portal.
16
The brick wall shimmered, ripples flowing out around it as if it were a reflection upon a pond’s surface. Then it began to boil and froth. Oil-slick rainbow bubbles raced to the top of it as the ether expelled its contents onto the dirty sidewalk of the city.
Kanruo hit the ground with a groan, his sickle skidding away into a shallow pool of wastewater. The air was cold and thick with smog, searing his lungs as he sucked in desperate gasps of breath.
He had to move, had to find cover, but the cold of the concrete leached what remaining strength he had left in his naked body.
Black tar unlatched itself from within him and seizing coughs wracked his frame as Volac's hold on him weakened. Thick and viscous, he purged the darkness that had festered within him for so long.
The stench of hot garbage filled his nostrils, and he pushed himself up onto his elbows to shuffle away from the foul puddle of liquid Void.
He watched as it writhed and thrashed, unable to survive without a host, until it finally vaporized with a hiss, searing the concrete.
The building next to him thudded with bass heavy music, flashing lights escaping from its high warehouse windows. A red strip of lights along the roof of the structure pulsated in time with the music, painting the air around it with a hellish glow.
Kanruo shivered, his skin saturated in a sheen of sweat. He didn’t know where he was, some dirty city alley where he would most likely perish, exposed to the elements.
At least it wasn’t Volac’s citadel.
"You look unwell, stranger," a voice spoke above him.
English. Was he in America, then? England?
Kanruo raised his eyes to find the source of the voice. He could barely make out the person before him. Were they friend or foe?
They crouched next to him, undoing their cloak and draping it over him. Kanruo could barely make out a woman’s dark face framed by long dreadlocks, a pair of skull beads swaying at her temples.
Kanruo tried to string together the words to thank her, but his throat was too dry to speak. He mouthed at the air, straining to make even the tiniest squeak of gratitude escape him.
"Drink this." She lifted his head and held a bottle to his lips.
Something warm and sweet poured into his mouth. A tea? A spiced cocoa? Kanruo couldn't place the flavor. It had been so long since he'd tasted anything other than dust and bone marrow. He drank greedily, gulping as fast as he could.
"You'll vomit again. Easy, now." Her hand pressed against his forehead. "You have a fever. Take these."
The hand nudged two small tablets into this mouth, and they dissolved instantly, fizzing and tickling his tongue. His tongue curled at the alien sensations.
He barely had time to process the tingling feeling as another bottle invaded his vision. "Broth," she told him. "You're skin and bones. Drink."
The obsidian crystal hummed against his skin as he struggled to grasp the container, spilling it as he desperately consumed it.
"You chose a poor city to come to. Atlanta is not known for being friendly to witches." She squinted at his pendant in the pulses of neon light.
Kanruo choked on the broth at the information, and his heart sank. Atlanta. A city burned to the ground and rebuilt on the corpse of its past countless times. The heart of the Union military.
"I—" His voice was raspy and hoarse, sounding foreign to his ears as he frantically tried to put the English words together.
"I had to escape. I—" He grasped at her arm, the bottle dropping from his hands and rolling down the alley. "Please."
"Your secret is safe with me. Despite countless attempts by colonizers, my homeland still treasures our traditional healers. I never saw you, don't worry." She smiled, a long marquise shaped dagger revealed at her hip and a shotgun strapped to her back.
"Why are you helping me?" Kanruo pushed himself into a sitting position. The world was still spinning, and he didn’t dare attempt to stand.
"Because." She picked up the sickle and delicately placed it in his hand. "I suspect we desire the same thing. And it is said that if you befriend a witch, then the fortunes will turn in your favor."
Kanruo stared at the bone handle and closed his fist around it. "Will you . . . will you tell me your name?"
"I don't make a habit of giving my name to witches, forgive me." The woman bowed her head apologetically.
"Oh. I—"
"Diata! I've been looking all over for you, geez! Way to give me a heart attack!" A short girl with copper skin, kinky red hair, and freckles ran up to them. Diata sighed as the girl stopped short, staring at Kanruo. "Who's this? Why are you feeding strays?"
"No one important." Diata stood. "Just a stranger in a strange land."
"You gave him your cloak! I bought that for you on your birthday!" The girl stamped her foot.
"Enough, Spitfire." Diata gave Kanruo a small nod and began to pull the girl out of the alleyway.
"I told you not to feed the strays here, Dia! Come on now, he's gonna follow us home!" Spitfire lamented.
Kanruo listened to them walk away. He wasn't strong enough to warp away from the city, but he could bide his time, hidden here in the heart of the beast, where they would never look. The light and noise would shield him from Volac's eyes.
His entire body ached as he breathed in the rank stench of sweat, puke, and refuse. His magical
senses came back to him, his entire being frazzled by the journey. All around him, he could only feel the faint pulse of the dying city.
Atlanta was not a happy place.
It sprawled out for miles in all the cardinal directions, consuming the surrounding metro areas in its hunger. When the city hit the limits of its protective shielding, its reach extended skyward. The towers of the rich were supported by the crumbling infrastructure of the poor. New, shining, gleaming technology weighed down on the old.
Pipes that carried sewage and potable water tangled together on the lower levels. People down below were crammed together among the machines, wires, and smog. Neon street signs along the street illuminated the gloom, almost blinding to the eyes of those who lived where the sun could never reach. Day and night were arbitrary, more a suggestion than a thing realized.
But at least it didn’t smell like death. Stale, dusty, cold death. Old death of the thousands before him who had been burned to ash. Death that lingered and gnawed at the mind.
No, the death that clung to Atlanta was different, toxic, and volatile, unhappy and ill at ease from the centuries of vile acts committed on its soil.
He wasn’t particularly keen on meeting the dead souls housed within the massive, half-decayed monster of a city. What would the dead here even be like? He shuddered to think. What happened to the spirits of the dead in this place? How did they find their way to the other side when they had never known grass or sunlight?
Furtively, he glanced around, half expecting to see a ghoul crouched alongside him.
The air cracked with arcs of heat lightning heavy with the smell of ozone. He could feel the ache of the ground itself beneath all the metal and asphalt sinking and giving way. One day, perhaps soon, perhaps not, the city would collapse on itself. Nature would reclaim it and the earth would heal.
There was no time for meditation on the destiny of the ruined metropolis. He had to keep moving. The more distance he could put between himself and Volac, the better.
He tore a strip of cloth from the cloak. Tying it around his waist, he secured his sickle.
Kanruo took a deep breath, trying to calm himself as he staggered to his feet.
Just beyond the tiny alley, the noise of the city rose to a roar. Rusted out trucks running on bio-diesel rumbled along the roadways, leaving the smell of fried food in their wake as they fought for space on the pavement. Advertisements and music blaring, people shouting, and drones zipping about melded together in an overwhelming cacophony.
Kanruo pulled the cloak’s hood over his head as he surveyed his surroundings. Already, he could feel the shackles of despair falling off him, replaced with a debilitating sensory overload.
The Void still whispered in his mind, but now its promises lacked the appeal they’d once had.
He curled a bit of magic in his palm and then released it, calling out to the endless ebb and flow of energy that was the universe in perfect entropy. His heart jumped when it flowed through his body as readily as his own blood. As if all the years locked away in the dead citadel had never happened. As if the Void had not nearly won his soul before he’d managed to escape.
Finding a safe place to stay was his priority. It was taking his remaining reserves just to stay standing. His stomach growled, petitioning for more nourishment.
His gift for manipulating reality had not dulled, even after years of torment. A lump tightened in his throat as he recalled the simple warding sorcery. The subtle magic teemed around him, rendering him invisible to people and cybernetics without raising any alarms.
He put one foot in front of the other, creeping out from the alley into the busy streets.
He had been certain he would die in that Void plagued citadel of white marble. Perhaps he was still there and this was all a fantastical dream that his mind had woven to hide him from the horror of his destiny.
How reliable were his own senses? His own memories?
He felt his captor’s magical presence waning. The sheer distance between himself and the older man was already mitigating some of the damage.
He didn’t trust it. Couldn’t trust it. He couldn’t discern which thoughts were his own and which were implanted ideas. He felt lost and adrift, the conflict threatening to split his head in two.
Kanruo cast out a tendril of magic, vigilantly scanning around him as he wandered through the city.
He had awoken from a nightmare, only to be confronted with the weighted knowledge that he was alone.
Notia was dead. Alrik was dead. And he was forever marked by the Void. The feeling rose, a predator lurking in the deep.
It hadn’t mattered how hard or desperately he’d fought. It had ended the same way every time.
It had been his fault.
Kanruo blinked back the sting in his eyes as he paused, waiting for the magical sentinels to return to him. His hand went to caress the handle of the sickle at his waist.
It didn’t stop the ache in his chest. Why had Notia reached out to him after so many years? How did she even do it? She was dead.
The Void slunk about in his mind, trying once more to insert itself. It would protect him from anything the city contained. It could shield and empower him like no machine or goddess could.
The noise of the streets snapped him out of his trance. He shrank in on himself, his heart racing in his chest.
No matter what road he took, people were everywhere. They shouted, sang, and laughed despite the late hour. They quarreled and bargained at the top of their lungs, yelling over the synthetic voices of adverts and Union propaganda that wove through the air. The colors were too bright, too abrasive, and the smell of street vendors cooking vats of gray food mingled with the refuse.
A pair of motorcycles whizzed past him, their riders a blur of red and blue as they raced along the stretch of road.
Projected holograms blaring their company catchphrases cut through the fog. He wanted to put his hands over his ears and hide in the gutter of the street. He had to run. He had to—
He clutched the pendant around his neck, collecting the nervousness bubbling up within him and forcing it down into the ground, sending it into the toxic and poisoned ground meters below him, buried under concrete and steel. Could the earth of this place even hold any more anxious energy? Any more pain and despair?
He felt something deeper than the concrete answer him. Energy, clean and pure, coursed back up to him.
Beneath the city’s decay there was new, fantastical life.
His panic faded into bafflement, and he found himself spurred onward by something he couldn’t explain, as if the universe itself was dragging him along by the hand. To where, he was uncertain, but his travel-weary mind did not question it.
Where there was life, there was sanctuary for the children of the moon goddess. He followed the call, wandering through the thick, muggy haze.
The deeper into the city he went, the worse it became.
Kanruo took a slow breath and concentrated, pulling from the deepest reserves within.
He brought his hand up to his chest and made a fist, pointing his index finger skyward. Then he closed his other hand over the finger, his thumb pressing against the nail in the kuji-kiri form of retsu, trying to focus.
“Guide me so that I might share your wisdom,” he murmured as he called his magic to him. “What is it that demands I seek it? Retsu.”
It was a simple incantation, a petition that proclaimed he was a listening and willing servant of the goddess and all of her knowledge, sealed with the magic of his own brand.
The images came to him in a flash, fragmented and broken. An abandoned building, tucked away deep within the lowest levels of the dying city. There were the briefest glimpses of green and black. But before they could come into focus, the vision evaporated.
He dropped his hands and opened his eyes. It was an exercise in patience, it would seem. The goddess and the ether were seldom clear or concise in what they demanded. Precious few could hear the song of the stars
or wade in the ebb and flow of life energy that surged through every realm and dimension. Even fewer could call upon it.
Kanruo focused once more, bracing himself before he wove through the crowds of humanity that choked the streets.
17
Originally, Kanruo had assumed that the level of the city that he’d arrived in was the lowest, that all else before it had been crushed to dust under the weight of the advancing world. It was unsettling to find that he had been extremely mistaken.
A pair of heavily armored sentinel bots guarded the entrance to the abandoned MARTA rails. They stood three times taller than a person, painted black with florescent serial numbers printed across their convex chests. Guns were mounted to their arms, pointing toward the darkness. They seemed intent on keeping something inside rather than keeping trespassers out.
As he approached them, they began to move. The ground vibrated as their multi-jointed legs slammed into the concrete. Their articulations groaned as they began to patrol back and forth. He froze, watching their bulbous heads swivel about, scanning the tunnel. A flurry of lights flickered as the bots processed their environment.
He continued to creep forward, dancing between their legs until he reached the edge of the tunnel. One of the pair let out a whoosh from its aging hydraulic pistons as its bulky body dropped low. Its head whirled as it stared at the space he occupied, the whining of the scan ringing in his ears.
Kanruo held his breath. His spell was intact as long as he remained calm . . .
Finally, the bot finished its scan and a series of fretful noises escaped its hinges. The metal squealed as it righted itself and returned to pacing.
He slumped back against the decaying entrance, hand on his chest as relief overtook him. After his heart had calmed, he turned and entered the remains of the underground infrastructure.
The tunnels were flooded, lit only by the orange glow of emergency lights. Eyeless minnows and water lizards made their home in the false light. He had seen such things before in the fjords and abandoned mines of Norway when he hunted for crystals with Notia. Nature had adapted, even in this wretched place.
The Last Moon Witch Page 17