Aquino said: “Oh, there’s a lot of them, isn’t there?”
“They’re all together now,” Jupiter said. “They’re merging with the group in California.”
By now, Astrid’s ringer in the desert had nearly reached the speck, which turned out to be an acacia tree with a camel tethered to it.
“If it lets us get them all at once…,” Jupiter said.
“Thunder’s not wrong about us getting our asses kicked in Crete. They’re fighters—we’re just not,” she replied.
The camel wasn’t quite dead—it was hunched over, head bowed, and it was frostbitten, shivering. Astrid reached for the animal and it flinched.
“Shhh,” she said, fumbling with her mouse muscles to untether it. If she could coax it through Bramblegate, one of the healers might—
She wasn’t strong enough to undo the knot.
The camel wheezed, seeming to plead with her.
Astrid reached out again, bleeding herself of everything but a bubble of vitagua around the mouse. She flowed into the camel, contaminating it, and brought down the temperature of the liquid, chilling the last of its body heat. Its pulse slowed. The great body shuddered; the animal died.
Astrid, toddler-sized now, was left staring up at the ice blue corpse, wondering whose camel it was, whether they could survive without it.
Are you sure? people kept asking her, and she said yes every time. This was the right path. But the bright certainty she had felt in the beginning had dulled, worn threadbare by the doubts of others, by setbacks and losses. She’d been sure she could prevent Mark and Janet’s deaths. She’d been sure she could save Will’s kids, Sahara, even herself.
Had all this been about saving her own life?
“I don’t want to hurt anyone,” she told the dead camel. “And I don’t … I don’t want to die.”
Give in, a grumble said. It’s the only way.
“Right,” she said aloud. “Like I’m gonna fall for that.”
She was so far down this road now. And the good outcome was still in there, audible despite all the other voices: her and Will and the kids together, a future of teaching children how to chant, an ongoing set of talks, politics, and negotiations—
“But how? If I die, how?”
No answer.
Let it unfold, she thought. Stop pretending you’re in control of the flood.
Wind-hurled sand bit into the corpse of the camel, carrying away minuscule bits of magic, embedding some into the tree, which was already starting to grow.
Something was scratching underfoot.
Astrid pressed her ear to the sand. The dune was hard here—not frozen, just a solid wall. Inside, barely audible voices were speaking—she assumed—Arabic.
“Jupiter,” she said, “did Mark take any chantments with him besides the shovel?”
“A rubber gas mask, I think.”
“I never made anything like that.”
“Will did,” Aquino said. “It shelters people. It weaves a … a life pod, I guess … with water, some food…”
“So Mark protected the people in the freeze zone?”
“That’s the way we do things, right?”
Down in her cave, she felt tears on her face. “Yeah.”
Jupiter stiffened. “Fyremen are in the forest.”
“Where?”
“Edge of the Big Blue Reservoir.”
“So the good news is we’ve found ’em,” Aquino said. Their bamboo screen showed a blue-black funnel cloud twisting at the edge of the reservoir, that spot Roche was always bombing. The funnel had ignited the contaminated trees.
“It’s feeding off the burnt magic—what did they call it?”
“Purificado.” There were faces in the funnel, dark masks whose lips were all moving in unison.
“They’re making for the Alchemite refugee camp.”
“Can you use the rainstorm chantment to fight them, Jupe? It’ll take a lot of letrico.”
“That’s what we have power reserves for, right?” His laugh was edgy.
“Hurry,” she said, and there was a rumble of thunder. Her outdoor ringers turned their faces up into a downpour.
“It’s slowing them down,” Jupiter reported.
“They’re too close to the Alchemites,” Aquino said.
“We could arm them,” Jupiter suggested.
“They’ve done enough fighting for us,” Astrid sighed. “Evacuate them. Give ’em chantments, send them out to save lives.”
“What if they object?”
“I’ll talk to them,” she said.
Jupiter frowned. “We get the Alchemites out of harm’s way, the Fyremen’ll come straight here.”
“There’s time yet to deal with that,” Astrid said, hoping it was true.
CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN
THE ALCHEMITES WERE PRAYING as the hedge around their village burned.
Will and Astrid’s ringer found Sahara’s followers, thousands of them, sitting cross-legged on the grass, arranged in a rain-soaked spiral and holding hands as they sang praises.
As the two of them stepped into the clearing, the prayer stilled.
“You sure about this?” Will murmured.
“These are our people. They just don’t know it yet.” She squeezed his hand with her icy one, and he tried not to grimace. The ringers might resemble Astrid, but he was uncomfortably aware of the dying rodents within.
“Hello?” Astrid began, a little uncertain.
Hostile, staring silence from the Alchemites.
“Leadership, Astrid,” Will whispered.
Astrid’s back straightened. “A large force of Fyremen is in the forest. You know what’ll happen if they get here—they’ll burn the chantments, the vitagua used to create them, and, well … all of us.”
“It’s you they want,” one of them muttered.
Astrid nodded. “Sahara’s right, you know—I’m a gardener, not a god. I set up a community here in the forest because I needed advice and help. I don’t have all the answers.”
A ripple of uncertainty.
“I’m the Filthwitch, you don’t like me, that’s fine. I’m not asking you to change. But whatever you think of me, the volunteers in Indigo Springs believe in the same things you do—clean air, clean power, magic for everyone.”
“We believe in the goddess Sahara,” came a voice.
“Sahara says the magical well is sacred, and it’s in danger.”
She paused, letting it sink in. A few Alchemites glanced at the approaching fire.
“If the Fyremen get through, the future will be witch-burnings. Magic will never be anything but potions made of dead, burnt vitagua. Take a breath—what do you smell?”
“Gasoline,” someone replied.
“Fire,” said another.
Will felt a burst of pride. She had them.
“There’s your choice. A garden or the fire.”
“That simple?” someone scoffed.
“Sometimes it is that simple,” Astrid said. “We need people to go work magic, to save lives. That’s why you joined Sahara, isn’t it?”
“We’ll do it.” The pregnant Alchemite, Mary, wobbled to her feet. “As long as we don’t have to deal with you personally. No offense.”
Will opened his mouth to protest, but Astrid bowed her head in assent.
“Thank you,” she said. She turned, strolling off.
When Astrid was gone, Mary turned to Will: “May we assist in defending the well?”
“We’re asking you to take chantments out into the world. We’re expecting earthquakes, storms…”
“What’s to keep the witch-burners from hunting us down?”
“For one thing, we’re pretty sure they’re all here.”
Mary cocked her head, as if listening to the breeze. At length, she nodded. “Fine.”
“Are you all ready to go?” Will said. “Do you have anyone with mobility issues?”
“In the Age of Miracles?” She scoffed. “Sahara was lamed so t
he slow might walk, the blind might see…”
Will remembered it rather differently, but instead of arguing, he said, “Pike?”
His tuning fork buzzed. “Aye?”
“They’re on board.”
“We’ve cleared Astrid’s ringers from the plaza,” Pike replied. “Draw them through.”
Reluctantly, Will put out his hand. Mary took it, reaching back for the next woman in the spiral. Following his lead, they filed through Bramblegate and into the plaza.
Olive’s crew was waiting, standing before a chalkboard—a list of endangered areas—and a crate of chantments.
Will had a strong urge, suddenly, to see Astrid Prime. Leaving the Alchemites with the Lifeguards, he walked into the glow and stepped out into the cave of wonders.
She was hard at work, of course, chanting everything her scavengers could throw at her.
“You’re still chanting?”
“Getting magic out to people is the most important thing.” She couldn’t quite hide her fear. “Contaminated animals are fleeing the forest; they’re going to end up in the towns closest to our borders. People need fresh water—”
He pulled her behind the screen, into her makeshift bedroom. “I don’t trust the Alchemites.”
“We can’t leave them to burn.”
“True,” he said. Unlike the ringers, this Astrid was warm—the real thing, alive and well.
“They’ll be back in the world soon enough.” She kissed him, visibly savoring it. “Will, we have to talk.”
“About what?”
“About before and about after.” She drew a line above the bed, a shimmering blue boundary of vitagua, silk thin.
“You’re afraid we can’t beat the Fyremen.”
“The grumbles insist it’ll be okay. You, me, your children—in the unreal. Happy After, I can still hear it.”
“But?”
“But there are contradictions.”
“We can’t afford your euphemisms now.”
“I’m not on the Big Picture—Olive would say I’m still in Limbo.”
“You might still die.”
“Not by poison, not by fire, the grumbles say—but yes. I have no idea what it means.”
“You saved Olive and Katarina.”
“But not Mark, not Janet.”
He cupped her face in his hands. “The obvious answer is they kill off a ringer. That’s why you made them, as decoys.”
“Maybe—”
“Astrid, I’m not going to let you die.” He remembered Caro burning, the anguish of being helpless. He snatched up the scarf that made Astrid look like a nondescript older man. “You should have this on.”
“Fyremen can’t get me here. No door.”
“They just hopped from Hawaii to California to here. Disguise yourself.”
“Okay,” she said without picking it up.
She’s ready to die, he thought. Or was that a grumble?
“Astrid, you’re entitled to your life.”
“I’ve done a lot of harm, Will. Mark, Janet, the Chief—”
“You’re allowed to live. You have to fight.”
“I will, I swear,” she said. “But—”
“No buts!”
“You have to be ready to take over.”
“If they kill you, I’m not going to have a choice.”
“That’s … talk,” she said. “Promise that whatever happens, you’ll keep the well open.”
“I made this commitment months ago.”
“Did you?” She swallowed. “When all’s said and done, wouldn’t you rather have the old world back? You tried to rewrite the past—”
“Going back to see your dad was a mistake.”
“The Fyremen might still make things the way they were.”
He kissed her. “They’ll kill everyone here. I’m a chanter. What are they going to do, let me escape?”
“You’re being practical. I’m talking about what you want, Will, not what you think. Vitagua is about desire.”
“My desire … I want you to live, Astrid. I want my children and I want a real life, not one where we’re crouching in caves fending off bombs and assassins. If that’s not the answer you want…”
“Well, it’s honest.” That faint smile, the one that said she was trying to find the upside.
Time to change the subject. “What about your exes? What becomes of them in this glorious After?”
“When … if I die, Sahara burns.”
“And since you’re not going to die?”
“Dunno.”
“Jacks Glade?”
“The grumbles tell of him blazing, looking at me with eyes of flame. Later—like I said, there’s Katarina. For a while.”
“Everyone burns, Astrid? That’s your best-case scenario?”
“The grumbles don’t come with an index; I can’t just look stuff up.”
Their tuning forks buzzed.
“Sorry to interrupt,” Pike said, “But that Alchemite gal’s gone into labor in the plaza. There’s about five hundred of ’em won’t leave her.”
“I’ll see if I can hurry things along,” Will told Pike.
“Thanks kindly, Will.”
He hugged Astrid tightly, fighting a rising feeling of dread. “I’ll be back to help with the chanting.”
“It’ll be okay,” she said.
“Of course it will.” They’ll get a ringer, Will told himself. Ringer dies, prophecy comes true, Astrid lives in peace. Check and check. “But put on that scarf, just in case.”
He gave her a last kiss and headed for Bramblegate.
CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT
“TIME’S UP.” TEOQUAN TURNED up at Pucker Hill as the last baskets of venison and blueberries were emptied. He was dressed in a frayed yellow zoot suit—God alone knew where he’d gotten it—and his two-tone shoes were polished to a glow. Clasped loosely in his left hand was a bone knife. He wore the bright, delighted smile of a kid on Christmas morning. “Your girl around? I wanna talk to her.”
“She’s right…” Ev turned an expectant eye on the ringer standing at the base of the Pucker Hill wind turbine, but the figure of his daughter didn’t move. “Astrid?”
No response—the ringer was frozen. Condensed water beaded on its face, dripping down her chin.
“How anticlimactic,” Teo said. He was all but purring.
Using his good hand, the one not weighted by the shackle of rosarite, Ev tapped on the statue. “Petey? Sweetheart?”
Nothing.
“What do your super-deducto skills tell you about this?”
“Something’s wrong in Indigo Springs,” Ev said.
“Or we’ve been forsaken,” Teo said.
“Astrid would never do that,” Ev said.
“You sure? If she had to cut someone loose, wouldn’t we be the logical choice?”
“I believe in her.”
“You’re obliged. You’re her mommy, aren’t you?”
“Yes,” Ev said mildly. “So now what?”
Teo glanced around. “Where’s Her Ladyship?”
“Here.” Patience came out of one of the huts. Her old-lady mouth was drawn tight, and her hair was up in a bun. She was radiant. “Teo, if I asked for more time—”
“No,” Teo said shortly.
“If I asked nicely,” she said.
“You turned me down, gorgeous,” Teo said. “Flow’s stopped, time’s wasting, and I got responsibilities.”
“And it’s just busting you up inside,” she said sourly.
“I am what I am, Patience.” He tap-danced in place.
“Let’s get this over with,” Ev said.
“Works for me.” Teo bowed, gesturing at the bone bridge.
They crossed into the Pit. Ev put an arm up out of habit to protect his eyes from the blinding firelight of Jacks. But Jacks was banked, cool.
“Baby girl shut the flow down, remember?”
A step behind him, Patience retched. Ev’s stomach did a slow, uneasy roll
as he smelled rotting meat.
Lowering his arm, he saw a moist pile of flesh, pieces of body, clothing and hair, abuzz with giant insects—fully transformed Roused. The corpses were arranged in a circle. Blood pooled in the center of the grisly mound, forming a mirror-smooth surface whose edges were lined with grass.
“Fyremen,” Teo explained. “From the battle in the real.”
“You bloodthirsty bastard,” Patience said. “Why—?”
“Building materials.” Teoquan shrugged.
“For what?” Ev asked, and was sorry he’d asked. Whatever the answer, it couldn’t be good.
“A better bridge.” Teo led them to the lip of the Chimney. Human bones were lashed together there in a crude boardwalk that pointed straight down. Planks made from femurs, ribs, and spinal columns were bound by a winding, multicolored cord of hair. Skulls, gathered at Jacks’s feet, were arranged so that what little vitagua there was flowed through their eyes and teeth.
Teo sauntered to the edge of the walkway. “Come on, Ev, time to pay your blood debt.”
“Teo,” Patience said. “You’re not doing this.”
“It’s all right,” Ev said.
“It’s not.”
He kissed her. “We’re not supposed to die, remember?”
She shook him, furious. “That doesn’t mean you can’t be hurt, Ev Lethewood, or lose what’s left of your marbles.”
One of the Roused warriors gently broke her grip.
“After you,” Teo said, sweeping out one yellow sleeve.
With a shudder, Ev stepped onto the bridge. It was more substantial than it looked; there was no crunching underfoot.
“What now?”
“Strike up the band!” Around them, drums started beating. Unreal voices, human and animal, rose in song, and the assembled Roused began to dance. Ev’s ears rang.
Teoquan drew his blade over Ev’s breastbone, releasing a thin trickle of blood.
Ev closed his eyes, thinking of Astrid. Me for her, he thought, offering himself to anyone who would listen.
“Down zee daisy,” Teo said. They stepped over the lip of the Chimney, but instead of falling, Ev just stumbled. His stomach lurched, resettled. He stood on the bridge, which led to the vertical brick wall of the Chimney, pointed sideways but as steady as if he were on the ground.
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