The Severed Tower

by J. Barton Mitchell

  Southlift had been rising and falling steadily. Full going up, empty coming down. If he turned around, he could just barely see Northlift at the opposite end of the quarry, over the tops of hundreds of rusting, forgotten aircraft carcasses. It sat silent and unmoving, underneath a horizon that just looked wrong. Darker, thinner, and wavering. More colorful, maybe, but not more cheery.

  Foreboding was the word that came to mind.

  Holt threw the last of the rocks, then pulled something else from a pocket. A polished black stone, something he had carried for weeks. It meant something to him. It was more than just a relic of a dance around a campfire. It represented something stronger, something that spoke of his change from isolationist to someone willing to trust.

  But where had any of it gotten him?

  He thought of Mira and Ben, back near the city’s center, alone. He could still see her kissing him. He saw it no matter how hard he tried to block it out. His hand gripped the stone tightly. His arm tensed. He should throw it like the others, toss it away, get rid of it. But he didn’t. He couldn’t.

  Holt stuck the stone back in his pocket and grabbed something next to him. The Chance Generator felt warm in his hands. Pulling it from his pack had been automatic, like reaching out for an old friend.

  Maybe he should just leave now, while he could. While Mira was gone and Zoey was asleep. He could just ride Southlift back up and disappear, head southeast like he’d always planned, toward the Low Marshes.

  Of course, it wasn’t that simple, was it? He’d made promises. He’d told Zoey he believed in her, said he would help her however he could, and he’d meant it at the time.

  But she didn’t need him. Not really. The truth was this Ben was who she needed now. Both Zoey and Mira. They needed someone to get them through the Strange Lands, and that definitely wasn’t Holt.

  And then there was the Menagerie, less than a mile away, two full ships. Every time Southlift lowered down, Holt expected to see it full of pirates, all wanting to drag him back to Faust to pay for what he’d done, even if what he’d done had been the right thing.

  Holt’s thoughts stopped as a bright flash to the southwest caught his eye, away from Southlift but near the edge of the quarry. It was like the sun flashing off metal.

  It was gone just as quick as—

  Two more flashes to the Southeast, visible near the edge again.

  Holt’s eyes narrowed. Two more made three. Three of anything made a pattern. And a pattern meant something was real.

  But what? What was up there? Whatever it was, it seemed to be slowly moving to either side of the city. He looked down at the beads, thought of sliding one up … just one. What would be the problem with—

  “What are you doing?” It was Mira’s voice.

  He looked behind him and saw her above the same opening that had let him up, standing still and looking at him.

  “There’s something along the edge of the quarry,” he told her. “Something flashing.”

  But Mira’s eyes were on the abacus in his hands. “I meant what are you doing with that?”

  He felt a stirring of guilt at the question. “I … I just wanted to make sure it still worked, that’s all.”

  “It’s a major artifact, Holt, why wouldn’t it still work?” Mira asked with forced patience. “And you aren’t supposed to be using it, even if it does.”

  Holt felt the anger fill him again. Everything from the last few hours combined with the tone in her voice boiled over in him. He saw Ben lift Mira up, saw him kiss her.…

  “Why shouldn’t I use it?” he snapped.

  “Because you promised me you wouldn’t.”

  Holt froze. She was right. Something about the dishonesty, or the casual way he had forgotten his own oath, stopped him. He looked down at the Chance Generator.

  “The abacus makes you paranoid,” Mira continued. “It becomes an addiction, and you’re being affected by it. If you keep using it, you won’t be able to do anything without having it turned on. That’s what it does.” Mira looked at him with sad concern. “I want you to shut the artifact off—and hand it to me.”

  Holt looked up at her.

  “It’ll be tough,” she continued, “there’s no doubt, but after a week or so without it … you should be okay. You should be yourself again.”

  Holt was silent. He looked back at the abacus. Was she right? Was this thing really affecting him? If it was, shouldn’t he be able to tell?

  “Think about how you were before the artifact,” Mira said. “You were strong, self-sufficient. It’s what meant the most to you, your ability to survive. And you hated artifacts. Can you honestly tell me you would rely on something like the Chance Generator instead of yourself?”

  Holt was silent. What she said, it made sense. Didn’t it?

  “I need you where we’re going, Holt.” Mira’s voice sounded raw. He wasn’t sure what had happened with Ben, but it had been emotional. “The real you. I rely on you, don’t you see? I don’t know if I can make it with you like this.”

  Words that were meant to placate him cut like a knife. He looked up at her with a new look, a heated one. “You don’t need me, you’ve got him now. I’m a liability here, you and I both know it. That’s what you really want to say, isn’t it?”

  Mira sighed and looked away. “What happened between us at the dam … happened because I wanted it to, but it wasn’t fair to you. I had things that weren’t resolved, things that—”

  “You told me,” he said, cutting her off. “Not in so many words, but you did. I just didn’t listen, like an idiot. I stuck around when I shouldn’t have, when everything pointed for me to leave. Survival dictated it—but I stayed anyway. I keep doing it over and over again with you.”

  Mira looked up at him, and her eyes were glistening. “I wanted you to stay,” she whispered.

  “Why?” If she would just answer that, he would be there for her as long as she needed, whether he was any use or not, whether he died or not. If she would just tell him, he would stay.

  She didn’t answer. She held his gaze a second—and then looked away.

  Holt got to his feet, the anger building. “Can’t even answer me that, after everything we’ve been through.” He clutched the abacus in his hand, and it felt good there. The anger felt good, too. Why shouldn’t he be angry? After all he’d been through and done for her? What had he ever gotten for his trouble?

  Mira looked back at him. “Holt, you’re not yourself right now. Please give me the artifact. Give it to me and then we can talk. We can talk about anything you want.”

  She offered her hand out, but it only made him more angry. “No,” he said firmly.

  Mira frowned. “Holt, I have to have it. You’re not thinking clearly. It should be obvious to you!”

  He felt more heat build inside him at the arrogant way she barked her orders, at how she thought she knew him. The Chance Generator throbbed in his hand.

  “This artifact is the best thing that’s ever happened to me.” His voice held nothing but scorn, and Mira’s eyes widened. He didn’t care, just felt the anger flow through him, the abacus burning in his grip. He liked it. “You can have your Ben and your Strange Lands, and all of it—but I’ll keep this. I’ll keep it and leave.”

  She stared at Holt a second more—then stepped toward him. “I can’t let you do that.”

  “It’s not up to you.”

  She reached for the artifact, tried to grab it from his hand. Holt resisted, and pushed her away from him.

  “Holt, stop!” Mira shouted and moved forward again, grabbing at the artifact, trying to yank it away.

  More anger flared inside Holt, hot and powerful. His reaction was fueled by it, drove everything that happened next, and it was all virtually automatic and mindless.

  Holt shoved Mira hard, watched as she fell and slammed down on the old wing. He rushed forward, full of fury. His hand raised, curling into a fist, readying to strike downward and—

  Mira’s scre
am snapped him from the action.

  He froze in place, one hand poised to hit her, the other hand holding the Chance Generator.

  He had never seen the look on Mira’s face directed at him. A look of shock and fear, of confusion and pain. She stared at him like she had no idea who he was. He could hear her frightened breathing.

  With wide, horrified eyes, Holt stepped back.

  There was a hollow thump as the abacus fell from his hand and clanged against the metal wing. He didn’t look at it. He just stared down at Mira with a blank, stunned look.

  “Take it,” Holt said, his voice a ragged whisper, barely audible. “Take it.”

  Slowly, Mira reached out and grabbed the artifact, keeping her eyes on Holt. He could see the pain there, the damage. He hadn’t hit her, but he’d hurt her all the same, crossed an invisible line. He had a sick feeling in his stomach.

  “Mira … I’m…” he started to say.

  A shower of sparks exploded into the air at the northern end of the city, where the cliffs rose upward.

  Holt and Mira both looked toward the sight, trying to find the source. Another plume of sparks, and something else.

  A single point of light, bright enough to be visible in the afternoon sun, hovered in the air. Holt watched it sink slowly down, pulled by some unseen force toward one of the old planes. When it touched it, another shower of sparks plumed upward.

  “Oh my God.” Mira said next to him. There was genuine dismay in her voice, like she was looking at something that made no sense.

  “What is it?” Holt asked. Screams echoed in the distance. More sparks shot into the air.

  But Mira didn’t answer. She just jumped to her feet and moved for the opening in the plane’s roof.

  6. TURNING POINTS

  ZOEY STOOD AT THE EDGE of Midnight City’s massive dam, staring at the breadth of the flood plain that fanned outward from the sheer drop at her feet.

  It wasn’t like before.

  There was no battle this time—no explosions, no shrapnel or plasma bolts burning the air, no screams and no dying.

  Everything was silent and still. The world seemed frozen, like she was standing in a photograph. Except far beneath her, in the water, there were shadows, and the shadows writhed and moved in disturbing ways.

  Zoey felt sensations pouring up at her from them. The same suggestions, over and over, and she tried to stop them, but she couldn’t. They filled her mind and there was nothing she could do.

  If she had to put the sensations into words or into a thought, it would simply be: “Why?”

  Again and again. The same question.

  Then a voice. From no source she could discern. It was loud. So loud it overpowered the suggestions from the squirming, unsettling shadows below.

  “Wake up, Zoey,” it said. “Balance must be restored.”

  The voice, Zoey noticed with some alarm, sounded exactly like her own.

  “Wake up!”

  * * *

  WITH A START, ZOEY woke and found her head full of pain.

  She grimaced and held her temples, curling into a ball on the cot the Echo person told her she could sleep on. The Max whined next to her, and his cold nose pushed under her hand. He had a worried look, Zoey could tell. She had come to know the dog’s feelings strictly from his expressions, and it was a source of endearment and relief. He was the only one in her life she couldn’t read with her powers, whose emotions and thoughts didn’t come involuntarily streaming into her mind. With him everything was quiet; she felt only her own feelings. It was one of the reasons she loved him so much.

  “The Max,” Zoey said softly, scratching his nose. “I’m okay, I promise. I can be tough, too.”

  Something pushed through the pain. More sensations, but not like those from the dream. These were real, and different. It was like the air was vibrating outside, at specific points. As the points moved, whatever they were, the pain in Zoey’s head shifted to match. She could feel them, could tell where they were. She could tell something else, too. They were multiplying. Seconds ago there had been two of them. Now there were four.

  Zoey had never felt anything like it. It was another sign things were changing—and it frightened her.

  Something stirred in the back of her mind—a pleasing sensation, as if its source was trying to comfort her. The Feelings, the ones she’d been carrying as long as she could remember, like some sort of strange, disconnected hitchhiker. Her powers all stemmed from them, Zoey knew. Whatever they were, they were real and something apart from herself, something no one else had.

  The Oracle at Midnight City had shown her many things, but it hadn’t explained what the Feelings were. How did she come to have them? What connection did they have with the Assembly?

  The Oracle didn’t tell her, but it had shown her where to get the answers. The place Mira called the Severed Tower. Whatever it was, however it worked, Zoey knew it would reveal the truth to her. The Feelings knew it, too. They swirled warmly whenever she thought of it.

  Yet, she had to get there first.

  Zoey heard screams outside, strange popping sounds, and she sat up. Max growled low, staring out past the exit of the old airplane as Holt and Mira swung down from a hole in the ceiling and into the cabin.

  “Zoey, we have to leave,” Mira said.

  “What is it?” Zoey asked, but no one one answered her.

  As Holt and Mira quickly geared up, Zoey sensed strange emotions from them. Distrust and anger, shame and a little fear. Nothing unusual in themselves—but it was the first time she’d ever felt those emotions directed from Mira and Holt at each other.

  Something had happened while she was asleep. Did it have to do with that Ben person from before? Zoey wasn’t sure how she felt about Ben. His emotions were too faint. But, as he’d said, they had things in common.

  An explosion echoed in from outside, the concussion wave rocking their plane.

  “What’s happening?” Zoey asked again. This time Mira responded.

  “Tesla Cubes. Unstable Anomalies.” The shock was still evident in her voice, and Zoey could sense the fear drifting off her. Whatever Tesla Cubes were, they were bad.

  “I thought we weren’t in the Strange Lands yet?” Holt asked, just as confused.

  “We’re not! They shouldn’t be here, it’s impossible,” she answered back.

  A violent rumbling sound outside. More screams.

  “Maybe someone should tell them that,” Holt said as he shouldered his pack. “What’s our plan?”

  “Ben will try to get to Northlift now. We need to be there when he does. Assuming you’re still coming.” Mira had yet to look at Holt, Zoey noticed.

  “I’m coming,” he said tightly. “Made a promise, didn’t I?”

  “More than one.”

  Holt stiffened. Something had definitely happened up top. Zoey wished they could see each other the way she saw them. If they did, they would understand everything, but people, she’d found, rarely saw the truth about each other or themselves. They always saw something else instead, and it made her sad.

  An explosion suddenly, more crashes, more screams.

  “That’s it, let’s go.” Holt strapped his guns to their usual spots. “Whatever you didn’t pack, leave it.” He whistled at Max and moved for the exit. Zoey followed them, peering into the Crossroads.

  When she had last seen the city, it had a strange beauty. Built on ruins, on top of things that had been lost and forgotten, and yet it had been remade with imagination into something new. It had been cared for and loved.

  Now it was burning.

  Flames spread quickly between some of the old planes at the northern end, blackening and consuming them where they stood. What was left of the populace ran in a panicked surge toward Southlift and the old roads that wound up the sides of the cliffs.

  In the distance, sparks shot into the air. Zoey couldn’t tell how, but the pain in her head throbbed in ways that told her the things she’d sensed before had grown ag
ain. There were almost a hundred now—and she had a feeling there would be more soon. But what were they?

  Holt turned and lifted Zoey onto his shoulders. “Which way?” he shouted at Mira.

  Mira pointed north, down a path of hulking, rusted planes, and Holt ran down it, shoving his way through the frothing crowd of kids.

  The good news was, the more they went in this direction, the thinner the crowd got. The bad news, of course, was that they were headed straight for whatever everyone was running from.

  Mira dashed past, taking the lead, and Holt whistled for Max. The dog bounded gleefully after them.

  “What do these things look like?” Holt yelled after Mira.

  “You’ll know them when you see them!”

  Zoey held on to Holt’s neck as they kept running, heading north toward the cliff wall and Northlift, at the far end of the city. Then she screamed as a massive, old plane fell to pieces in front of them, collapsing to the ground.

  “Holy crap!” Holt shouted, barely keeping his footing as debris sprayed everywhere.

  The top of the collapsed plane was covered in a mass of strange, glowing objects. Small, each about the size of a softball, except they were perfect cubes. Cubes of pure energy that glowed in different colors, and they seemed almost magnetically drawn to the old planes and helicopters. Whenever they touched one, plumes of colored sparks shot everywhere, and Zoey could see they were burrowing through the rusted metal, dissolving it.

  As the glowing cubes pushed down and in, their colors changed, starting at a cool blue, rising to purple, red, orange, becoming brighter and brighter, until they were nothing but white-hot light. Then there was a flash, and another, identical cube formed out of the first one.

  Every time they did, the pain in Zoey’s head grew slightly worse. She moaned and struggled to keep her arms around Holt.

  “They’re attracted to metal,” Mira shouted as they ran. “They break it down and absorb it, until they have enough energy to create a clone of themselves. They replicate exponentially, and with all the junk in this place, there’s going to be millions of them.” Sparks shot into the air everywhere, and Zoey could see hundreds of cubes, floating toward and absorbing into the planes and helicopters, one after the other, spreading and growing like a virus.