Shattering the Ley

by Joshua Palmatier

  Returning, she tugged on it harder and felt it give. But something above her groaned and a spill of debris cascaded onto her back. Her breath quickened, but the stone quieted, the spill reducing to a fall of silt.

  Turning back to the door, her eyes narrowed. Placing one foot against the jamb, she gripped the upper part of the splintered wood—the part that had shifted—and heaved.

  It came away with a screech of wood and another, larger rain of stone, releasing so sharply Kara fell backward, hitting the floor hard. But the groan of stone from above escalated, so she scrambled forward, ignoring the pain in her butt. As larger chunks of rock began to fall, hitting her shoulders, she thrust herself through the opening she’d made, kicking her legs out as she shoved with her arms. Wriggling, she slipped through a moment before something above her gave, the ceiling of her cell collapsing inward behind her with a horrendous crash of stone and another wall of choking debris. One arm raised to cover her mouth, she still couldn’t stifle her coughing, turning away from the unseen cloud even as it rushed over her. She hunched her shoulders, certain she’d feel the ceiling in the outer corridor caving in any moment.

  But the groans of stressed stone faded.

  “Hello? Is anyone out there?”

  Kara turned and squinted into the darkness. There wasn’t any light here either, but the breeze she’d felt inside her cell earlier was stronger, coming from her left: the way out.

  The voice she’d heard came from the right.

  The sound she’d thought was a scream was louder here as well. Only it wasn’t a scream, she realized. It was too consistent, too even. A steady throbbing whine.

  “Hello? Please? Is anyone there?”

  This time, the voice wavered, breaking into low coughing at the end. It sounded young, although it was hard to tell.

  Kara picked herself up and said loudly, “Where are you?”

  A hesitant silence, and then: “Here! I’m here! The Dogs took me and captured my father and dragged us here and I haven’t seen him since! And then there was this crack and I think the tower collapsed, but the door’s still locked and I can’t see anything and . . . and . . .”

  “It’s all right,” Kara said, feeling her way down the corridor toward the voice. Her feet kicked stones out in front of her, but the wall to her left was intact. A moment later, the girl’s voice breaking down into sobs, the stone ended and Kara’s fingers found the wood of another door.

  Locked. She knocked on the door. “I’m right here. But I don’t have the key. I was in one of the cells as well. I’m going to find the key . . . or another way to get you out.”

  “Wait! Wait, don’t leave!”

  Kara pressed her hand against the door, bringing her face close enough she could smell the wood. “Don’t worry. I’ll be back.”

  She fumbled back in the direction of the draft, until she passed her own cell, then slowed, feeling her way with every step, cursing the darkness. She passed another door, knocked but heard nothing in response, so continued. Ten steps later her feet encountered another rockfall, half the corridor blocked. As she felt her way around it, her hands came upon something soft and sticky. She prodded it with a frown, until she encountered fingers and sucked in a harsh breath, staggering back a step, choking back bile. She scrubbed her hands against her breeches but couldn’t dispel the stickiness of what she assumed was blood. Trembling, she forced herself to reach forward and test for a pulse, even though she knew the person was dead; the flesh wouldn’t have been so cool when she’d first touched it. Then she steadied herself and searched the parts of the body that weren’t buried, looking for keys. It was definitely a Dog by the bulk of the body and the armor beneath the clothing, but she found no keys.

  She gathered herself, drew in deep breaths of the clean, cool air gusting against her face, and continued, climbing over the edge of the fall, following the breeze. She stumbled upon two more bodies as she progressed, both Dogs by the feel, both killed by falling debris. After passing the collapse, she began to hear noises, moans and the sounds of someone weeping. She found the weeper behind another cell door and promised to return. The moaner was another Dog, legs trapped beneath stone, barely conscious. He didn’t respond to Kara, even when she slapped him lightly. But she couldn’t see his face, only felt the stubble of his beard and a few cuts along his jaw.

  The next door had stove in, like her own, although the ceiling wasn’t raining debris. She called out, “Anyone in here?” She considered entering, but more noises came from farther down the corridor, a few muted voices, even the sound of someone stumbling about. The whine had increased as well.

  Someone moaned in response, then bit back a curse. “Here.” The voice was weak. “Are you a Dog?”

  Kara snorted in contempt. “I’m not a Dog,” she said, then shoved the crack in the broken door open further and slipped inside. “I’m a Wielder. Where are you?”

  “Here. I’m tied down to a table in the center of the room.”

  “Keep talking so I can find you.”

  “It shouldn’t be that hard,” the man said, then coughed and groaned. “There’s not much else in the room.”

  Kara’s hip hit the edge of something hard and she heard metal utensils jouncing against each other. She reached down and felt the edges of a table, the cool metal of many objects lined across its top, set on a fine piece of cloth, all now covered with dirt, stone chunks, and dust. For a moment, her mind flashed on the black cloth of her father’s worktable, the gears of the clocks laid out in careful precision. But these weren’t the innards of a clock, she realized, as one of the knives cut the pad of her questing finger.

  She hissed and automatically brought the finger to her mouth, tasted the copper of her own blood.

  “That’s the interrogator’s table,” the rough, grating voice said from the darkness. “Those are his tools.”

  Kara shuddered at the snide casualness of the statement.

  “Take one of the knives. You’ll need it to cut through the ropes.”

  Kara picked up one of the knives automatically, then hesitated. “Why should I set you free? The Dogs had you for a reason.”

  The man laughed, the sound harsh and derisive and threaded with pain. “No real reason,” he growled. “I was a Dog once, but I left. Before the Purge. They caught me.”

  Kara sensed he held something back, but she shifted forward anyway. The noises outside were growing, more and more people moving around as they recovered. She wondered how many were dead, wondered what had happened in the first place, the persistent whine nagging at her.

  Her legs bumped against another table and she halted, reaching forward. As her hand touched bloody flesh, the man hissed in pain and she felt him jerk beneath her fingers, the table shuddering.

  “What did they do to you?”

  “Interrogated . . . me,” he muttered through clenched teeth.

  Kara swallowed. “Hold still.”

  She ran her hands over his back, down his arms, and found his wrists tied beneath the table. His breath came in harsh gasps as she did so. But she didn’t free him. Instead, she returned to the top of the table and traced out his legs, found the cords that bound his lower body to the table as well.

  Then she moved away, back toward the smaller table with the knives and other tools.

  “Where are you going?” the man barked.

  “I’m looking for keys,” she said. “And I can’t see you. I don’t know who you are, or why you’re here. I don’t know if I can trust you.”

  The man cursed in frustration and she heard him struggling against his bonds. She ignored him and felt along the table, looking for keys, the knife still clutched in her other hand. She frowned when she realized there was nothing on the table but knives and hammers, then began moving back toward the splintered door.

  “Wait!” the man called out, his struggles halting. “Wait
, I think there was a ley globe in here.”

  Kara halted, one leg already through the opening. “What do you mean?”

  “There was a ley globe hovering against the far wall. It might still be there. I don’t remember hearing it shatter, so maybe it didn’t fall during the blackout and what happened after. If you’re a Wielder, maybe you can make it work.”

  Kara’s eyes narrowed in suspicion, but the chance of getting some light was too tempting. She shifted back into the room. “Where was the globe?”

  “Against the wall opposite the door.”

  Kara circled the room, her skin prickling as she sensed the man’s eyes on her. She couldn’t remain silent. There was too much debris on the floor, chunks of stone grinding beneath her feet with every step. She reached the far wall and stretched up to a globe’s usual height and found it. It was hovering just over her head, and the moment her fingers brushed it, she could sense its connection to the ley. She reached for the Tapestry and searched for the ley lines around her, again disturbed by their chaotic flows. Even as she tapped into them and the ley globe sprung into weak life, she realized why.

  The ley network that she was familiar with, the structured lines all centered around the Nexus and branching outward from that source, were destroyed. All of the familiar touchpoints—the nodes, the ley stations, the channels—were gone. What remained was a chaotic jumble of what the system had once been . . . and what she guessed had been the natural lines of the ley before the Nexus had been created. The lines were still reshaping themselves, shifting and fluctuating as they sought out new paths.

  But there was something keeping them in flux, something drawing on their power with hideous strength. Kara didn’t know what it was, but it felt vaguely familiar, like the incessant whine that prickled in her ears.

  Even as she turned, that familiarity—the whine and the tug on the ley system—clicked, and she gasped and stilled.

  “What is it?” the man asked, and she dropped her gaze to the table, flinching back from the sight.

  The man had raised his head and looked up at her from a face caked in blood and grit and bruises. His back was a pattern of lacerations, the blood and sweat dried in trickles down his sides. The thick cords that bound his legs cut cruelly into his flesh, mitigated only by the cloth of his breeches. Nearly every square inch of his exposed back, arms, and sides were riddled with bruises.

  “Why did you gasp?” the man demanded.

  She focused on his eyes, swallowing against the tightness in her throat. She thought about the Kormanley priest she’d seen the Dogs drag off the public square when she was younger, thought of all of the people who had vanished during the Purge, and her stomach twisted, sourness burning at the back of her tongue. In the back of her mind, she’d known what had happened here beneath the Amber Tower, in the Dogs’ lair, but she had ignored it.

  Looking at this man’s eyes, she couldn’t ignore it any longer.

  “Tell me why you gasped,” he said.

  She licked her lips and worked spit back into her mouth. “Because I recognize that high-pitched whine now. It’s a distortion. Somewhere nearby, a distortion is forming.”

  “Close enough to harm us?”

  “I don’t know. The ley . . . it’s in turmoil. It’s hard to tell. But close.”

  The man considered this. Then his face hardened.

  When it did, Kara recognized him.

  “Get me out of here,” he said, voice low and dangerous.

  Kara stepped forward. “I know you,” she said. “You were the one caught in the distortion earlier. But it didn’t affect you, or the girl. You were immune to it. How?”

  Fear flickered across the man’s face, replaced a moment later by determination. “Get me out of here. I have to find my daughter. We have to get out of Erenthrall.”

  Kara’s hand tightened on the knife she held, the other still raised toward the ley globe. She stared at the man, long and hard, uncertain—

  And then she pushed the ley globe closer to the table and knelt, letting it hover above them. It flickered and dimmed as it drew closer, but she ignored it. Her hands fumbled toward the rope that had cut into his wrists as he struggled, slicing through it with the knife. It was easier than she expected, the blade sharp. His hands broke free with a snap and he cried out in triumph, Kara stepping back as he writhed on the table. But he couldn’t move far; the rope around his legs still held him. She moved to cut him free as he flailed, his arms obviously numbed. He gasped as the last of the ropes fell away and she helped him roll onto his back. He lay there twitching, moaning whenever he moved his legs or arms, but Kara could see his coordination returning. She stood, back against one wall, watching him warily.

  When he sat up, massaging his thighs with his hands, grimacing in pain, she tensed.

  “I think I know where your daughter is,” she offered.

  He stilled. “Where?”

  “In one of the cells. But the door’s locked.”

  He eased off of the table, stumbling toward the interrogator’s tools and retrieving a few before turning toward her. The intensity in his gaze, the raw hatred and focus, made her draw back.

  “Show me.”

  Allan followed the Wielder through the hall, the ley globe held out in front of her. Shouts came from the direction of the Dogs’ training pit, and he kept his eye on the darkness behind them. When the Wielder halted at a door, someone sobbing on the far side, he shook his head and said, “My daughter first.” He wasn’t certain he believed her, his hope nearly choking him, and he didn’t trust the sounds from the training pit. He didn’t think Hagger would have had time to hurt her yet—he’d been too focused on Allan—but he needed to know for certain. The fear that Morrell was dead, that the Dogs had turned on her—

  He sucked in a half-choked breath and calmed himself, his body throbbing with the bruises and lacerations that riddled it. His legs still tingled with the returning blood flow, meaty and heavy, his arms not faring much better. But he could grip the blade he’d taken from the table, even though his fingers were caked with dried blood, and the hammer and second, thinner knife were clutched in his other hand.

  They passed a few bodies, mostly Dogs, Allan paying attention only long enough to note that none of them were Hagger. At one of the bodies, the Wielder knelt, then looked up at him. “He was alive when I passed here earlier.”

  He couldn’t think of anything to say, and after a moment she moved on with an irritated frown.

  Finally, Allan’s attention still fixed on the corridor behind them, she said, “Here.”

  He stepped forward, hand against the door. “Morrell? Is that you?”

  “Da!”

  Allan’s legs grew suddenly weak, his entire body trembling in relief. He leaned his forehead against the wood of the door.

  “Da, the Dogs came to the room,” Morrell said, her voice cracking. “I didn’t let them in, but they broke down the door. I couldn’t get away. They grabbed me—my arm still hurts—and then they took me to that warehouse and made me wait, and I tried to warn you, but one of them put his hand over my mouth and I couldn’t breathe—”

  “It’s all right,” he said, and his voice shook. “It’s all right, Morrell. I’m not angry with you. We’ll get you out of there in a moment. Hang on.”

  He knelt, setting his blade on the debris-strewn ground and bringing up the thin knife and the hammer. He placed the end of the knife into the keyhole, felt it strike metal inside, then used the hammer to pound the blade into the locking mechanism with two sharp blows. Metal snapped and he pulled the blade out and shoved at the door.

  It swung open and Morrell spilled out, suddenly clutching at him, her face caked with dust, tears trailing down through the dirt. He hissed at the pain in his back as her arms latched around his chest, but he didn’t care, savoring it as he pulled her in close. His eyes blurred and phl
egm clogged his throat and chest as he murmured, “It’s all right, Poppet, it’s all right.”

  And then the Wielder barked, “Dog!”

  He spun on her, ready to snarl, thinking she was talking about him—

  But she wasn’t.

  One of the Dogs stood near the edge of the rock fall farther down the corridor. He glared at Allan, his sword raised, a sheet of blood coating one side of his face from a wound near his temple. “You.” He spat to one side. “Did you have anything to do with this?”

  Allan pried Morrell’s arms from around his chest, picked up the knife he’d set on the floor, stood, and eased his daughter behind him. “I had nothing to do with . . . whatever happened.”

  The Dog’s eyes narrowed, shot toward the Wielder and Morrell, then returned. “Get back into your cells. All of you.” He waved his sword, but kept his eyes fixed on Allan.

  “No.”

  Allan was surprised at the defiance in the Wielder’s voice. The other Dog was as well, shifting uncomfortably, his sword wavering.

  “The Baron—”

  “I don’t think the Baron’s in control right now,” Allan growled, shifting forward, “if he’s even alive.”

  The man started as Allan moved, raising his blade. “Don’t—”

  Allan didn’t let him finish. With only a minor twinge from his muscles, he grabbed the hesitant Dog’s forearm and punched him hard in the face. The man’s head rocked back and he crumpled to the floor. Allan took his sword and motioned Morrell and the Wielder forward. “Be careful. He was dazed. If we run into others, they might not be easily distracted.”

  “I’m not leaving until we free the others.”

  He turned toward the Wielder in disgust. “We don’t even know who they are.”

  “The Dogs were collecting Wielders before the blackout. That’s why I’m here. I’m betting that a good portion of those here are Wielders as well.” Her mouth firmed up. “Besides, I control the light.”

  Allan huffed with impatience. “Morrell, grab that hammer and knife. Be careful with the blade. It’s sharp.” His daughter scrambled for the implements. “Now let’s move.”