by Marissa Burt
They turned another corner, and then Wren understood. The barren, burned-out field wasn’t the only place she had visited in her dreams. She felt her skin turn to ice. She had been in this city before, too. She recognized the desolate, orderly rows of houses and the way they stopped before a wall of spikes. And a door in it that she was confident led to a deep underground pit.
“The spiders?” she whispered in a shaky voice.
Maya looked at her with piercing eyes. “Yes. They live in the research station itself. The first animachines. How did you know?”
Wren sighed. “Lucky guess.” She counted her crossbow bolts. She had five in the pouch that hung from her back. She wondered what they would do to one of the spiders from her nightmares.
“Hurry!” Maya ordered, waving Wren through the crossroads. There was no motion from the edge of the research station, and Wren hoped that meant the spiders were gone. Or sleeping. Or pretty much anywhere else. And then came another heart-stopping cry. This one was followed by human shouts and the sound of the firebolt weapon.
But Maya wasn’t distracted by that. “Come here, girl,” she said. “Hold the stone.”
She handed Wren the eyeball-shaped gem, which, though it glowed with light, was cool to the touch. As Wren closed her palm around it, a piercing green light burst forth, shooting through her fingers. She could see a matching signal flare up several streets over.
“There!” Maya said. “To the well. Before the animachines notice.”
Wren didn’t think that was likely. Unless the spiders were somehow blind. The stone was like a giant spotlight for any living thing with eyes. But she didn’t argue. Maya was running now, her weapon perched on her shoulder as she skidded around corners, scanning the scene. Wren followed, trying to manage her crossbow and hide the stone as much as possible. Neither was very effective, but it didn’t seem to matter. More animachine cries had sounded across the city, but Maya seemed wholly concerned with reaching their destination.
They ducked down another alley, and then they had reached the source. A circular panel that reminded Wren of a city manhole cover was set in the dusty ground. Maya stood looking down at it. “Excellent. Now open it.”
“Me?”
“Who else?” Maya said mildly. “You are the Weather Changer. You have the starmilk; I saw you steal it.”
“What do I do with it?” Wren asked, too tired to be ashamed. Even if the magic worked for her, it wasn’t like she knew the spell.
“The locator rhyme you used before will open the well,” Maya said with a determined expression on her face. “I’ll do the rest.”
There wasn’t time to argue. The commotion of the fighting was increasing, and given the volume, the spiders were on the move and headed in their direction.
Wren crouched down over the panel, which was labeled with an unreadable formula. But one thing was obvious. There was a gem-sized hole in the center, and Wren dropped the green stone into it. The light from the stone now burst forth from the well itself, sending brilliant green through the cracks around the panel. Along with the light came a fierce wind that nearly pushed Wren back on her heels.
“Work the rhyme!” Maya called.
Wren fumbled in her vest pocket for the near-empty bottle of starmilk. Fighting to hold her hand steady in the wind, she dumped the liquid into her palm and whispered the rhyme. Instantly, the magic flared to life, sending a rushing sense of well-being throughout Wren’s body. The panel in front of her began to move, swiveling up and out, hovering over the hole in the mighty current of green air. Despite the increasing volume of the spiders’ cries and the buffeting storm, Wren felt like laughing. Maya was laughing. She stood, weapon at one side, laughing in the warm flood of the magic, her tightly cropped gray hair ruffling in the wind and the unearthly green glow reflected in her eyes.
Wren did laugh then, forgetting for a moment that she was on a strange planet. Forgetting the threat of the animachines. Forgetting everything but the feeling of being alive, of having gotten through everything to be here with Maya. The magic was shooting up and out of the well, and for a moment it looked like the horizon of Nod was visited by an aurora. But then it dissipated into the atmosphere, the brilliant greens and blues fading into a smoky cloud that swirled around her, blocking Maya from sight and paralyzing Wren with chains of fear.
Jagged bolts of light shot through the dimness, sending matching pangs of pain through the base of Wren’s neck, and then he was there. Boggen, his face shiny with perspiration and framed by a strange otherworldly helmet, stared at her through overly bright, insane eyes. He was standing on a rocky precipice, surrounded by walls of obsidian. A neon glow pulsed from somewhere above him.
“My missing apprentice,” he said in a controlled, quiet voice. “I should have known.”
Wren was frozen in place. He had come to her in waking dreams on Earth, but then a whole galaxy had separated them. What would he do now that she was here on Nod? Could those awful spiked gauntlets reach through and grab her? Somehow his presence ushered in a terror so compelling, so complete, that it held her captive and unable to move.
“I was prepared to thank you for delivering Jack to me.” He gave her a wicked smile. “And now I find that you are aiding my enemies. Emptying my wells. Thwarting all I am working for.” His face became a mask of anger. “Why? Why do you fail me?” he screamed, and the sudden change in volume from near-whisper to raging cry took Wren’s breath away.
“I hate those who fail me, Apprentice.” The icy calm was back. “Now I will destroy you. And those you love.”
Wren willed her body to work, ordered her mouth to speak, to shout, to scream, “Never! Get away! Help!” Anything! But no words came. She fought her paralyzed legs and with a great effort forced herself to take a step backward. At first her muscles didn’t respond, but then she felt the slightest movement. She worked harder, fighting the pull of Boggen’s dream spell and its accompanying crippling fear, but instead of moving away from him, she fell to her knees, cowering before him.
Boggen’s pleased laugh sent spirals of shame coursing through Wren. Some Fiddler she was. Her friends were depending on her to rescue them. All of Earth was waiting for her to cleanse the stardust. Even the Outsiders thought she could help them put a stop to Boggen’s research. And here, when she was confronted with Boggen, she was powerless to do anything except bow before her cruel master. Maybe she did belong to him.
Boggen’s form towered over her, the pulsing neon cloud casting everything in an eerie glow. “You will come to me, Apprentice,” he said gloatingly. “A Weather Changer for a pet. I wonder what effects the tainted stardust will have on you.” He reached out with one arm, beckoning her, as if he could draw her to himself through the dream. As he did so, Wren felt a magnetic pull, a strong sense that Boggen was somewhere to the east. Everything inside her compelled her to go to him, as though she had a powerful itch that could only be scratched once she arrived. And somehow, Wren knew that she would go to him. Whatever magic he had worked, whatever he had done, held her captive to his will. She could fight it no more than she could fight the powerful fear that kept her paralyzed.
“You belong to me,” Boggen said with a leer. “And I will see you soon.” His words hammered nails into Wren’s soul. She knew it was inevitable. Her fate was inextricably tied to Boggen’s. Perhaps it would take one day, perhaps twenty, but he would have her. With a wave of his gauntleted arms, the cloud disappeared, and with it some of Wren’s dread. She could move her body again, and she worked her jaw carefully, but she still felt the powerful pull to the east, the inexorable draw of the reunion that must happen.
“We did it. The well is empty,” Maya was saying. The air had gone still around them. All the colors of the aurora had dissipated. It seemed that Maya knew nothing of Boggen’s encounter with Wren, which was likely a good thing. Maya might just kill her on the spot if she knew that Boggen had marked her in such a way.
Maya gave her a rare genuine smile, and Wren
forced something like it onto her own trembling lips, until a screeching sound broke the moment. From the end of the street a gigantic silver shape stumbled into sight. The spider was even larger in real life, and it came crashing toward them, crushing the last walls of the ruins as it moved.
Wren dropped the starmilk bottle, fumbling at her shoulder for her crossbow, but Maya stepped in front of her, turning her around and shoving her back the way they had come.
“Go!” Maya barked. “Back to the rope bridge. Get to the island.” Maya was already unstrapping her weapon, sending a bolt straight at the spider’s metal underbelly. It struck dead center, sending the beast stumbling for a moment, but then it came implacably on. Wren saw the spindly legs of another spider cresting the top of a building.
“There’s no courage in getting killed needlessly.” Maya was moving toward the animachine, throwing a dagger into the thing’s eye. “I can fight better without tending to you, girl. We’re done here. Now go! Back to the island.”
Wren didn’t wait any longer. One of the first lessons she had learned in the weaponry ring was that distractions could be deadly. Maya was right. Maya would fare much better not having to watch out for Wren. She sped back the way they had come without turning to see if she was followed. She tore down the city streets, not remembering which ones they had taken at first, but knowing that the desolate field was behind the Old City. She dodged down one street only to see a smaller, human-sized spider scuttling through a crossway. Wren doubled through an empty building to escape it, racing past burned-out rooms and forgotten rubbish. Her right side ached, and her chest felt tight from the running, but she pressed on, driven by the cords of fear that bound her to Boggen and her increasing terror of the animachines.
She heard screeches in the distance and wondered how Maya was faring. How many spiders were there? She fought against the eastward pull of Boggen and pumped her legs faster. Now that she was in control of her own body again, she felt a glimmer of hope. Perhaps there was a way to fight Boggen’s magnetism. Perhaps the Outsiders or Winter or the Scavengers would know a cure for being marked as his.
As if she could outrun her connection with Boggen, she sprinted on. She was halfway through the field now, but she didn’t stop running. She barreled through the forest, crashing through the underbrush in what felt like an endless sprint. Twice she had to slow to a walk to catch her breath, but then the distant echo of an animachine’s cry spurred her on. She knew very well the spiders weren’t the only threat. What if a hovercat was in these woods? Or one of the flying ones? She had to be getting close. She recognized the ground here, the way it sloped down toward the flat outcropping where the rope was tied. She heard human voices ahead. Could it be that some of the Outsiders had already reached the ravine? She hoped so. She had been so busy sprinting she hadn’t even considered what would happen if she had to swing across the chasm on her own. She was almost there. Yes, those were definitely human voices, shouts, and cries. She wondered how many Outsiders had made it to safety. Then as she burst through the underbrush, she heard a scream and saw in unforgettable clarity the silhouette of an Outsider being snatched up by an animachine. Too late, she heard the thump of mechanical wings behind her. Wren screamed and dropped to the ground, narrowly dodging the outstretched claws of the flying animachine that tore through the air where she had been moments before. Now she realized what the cries had been. Battle was being waged here, too. Whichever Outsiders had escaped the spiders had made it through the forest only to discover the flying monsters on the other side.
“When it next circles around, I will draw it away. You get to the bridge,” said a gruff Outsider, who stood at attention at the edge of the woods. He pointed to the animachine, which was circling around and preparing to dive-bomb them again. “Our only hope is to get across before more come. The spiders are hunting through the woods, and soon they’ll have us all pinned.”
Wren couldn’t even find the words to answer him. Her breath was coming in ragged gasps, and every muscle in her body screamed in protest. She leaned forward and rested her palms on her knees. Black spots swam before her eyes. How was she supposed to get across the bridge if she could barely catch her breath?
The Outsider was moving, expertly drawing a steel-plated arrow and aiming at the animachine. “Now!” he called, and Wren willed her exhausted body forward. She jogged to the bridge, grasping the top rope with trembling hands. The spots swam in front of her eyes again, this time not from exhaustion but from fear. She had thought the threat of the animachines would trump the agony of the bridge, but the dizzying depth below sent panic coursing through her body. She breathed deeply, willing herself to find courage. She had to do this.
She eased herself out onto the rope, and all her senses focused inward. She could hear the screeching cry of the animachine stalking the ledge, hear the twang of the bow as the Outsider shot his arrow. She heard calls from the other side as Outsiders who were already on the island tried to lend her their courage and distract the beast.
“Halfway done,” one of the other kids called. Wren felt the cold air against her cheek. Saw the blue sky with nearly painful brightness. Every sense was alive. Which was how she knew the moment another animachine had found her.
The cranking sound of its wings came from behind her, the mechanical chop of a machine coupled with the screech of a beast. In that moment, Wren wasn’t afraid. She held on to the rope with one hand and, trancelike, reached for her crossbow, pivoting to aim one final shot at the all-too-living eye that was examining her from several arms’ lengths away. The animachine was hovering there, not even fighting. Wren realized that it was waiting. It was so sure of its prey.
She glanced across to the island and saw the other Outsiders there, kneeling with their hands clasped in the gesture of respect. They knew she was already dead. Wren shot the crossbow straight at the bird, which easily evaded it. It rose up, higher and higher, until for one brief moment Wren thought that perhaps it would leave and she might escape after all, but then it gave a crowing sound and came racing toward her in a hunter’s dive that ended with a tight mechanical grasp around her waist. Wren struggled and kicked, tugging hard at the metal trap around her waist, but she knew it didn’t matter. Even if she could escape, only death lay at the bottom of the deep chasm, or worse, at the hands of Boggen. As it flew higher, she gave a bitter laugh. Her only consolation was that Boggen wouldn’t have the satisfaction of experimenting on her after all. The Outsiders’ kneeling forms were distant specks on the edge of the island when suddenly the bird slammed into something, sending a jolt through its body that Wren felt reverberating through its claws.
The animachine screeched, circling around to scan the area for enemies. Wren scoured the ground below them, hoping for a sign of rescue, pleading for a hint at a happy ending, but there was nothing. They were too high up, and the land below them looked desolate, bare of any living creatures. The invisible force hit again, this time spinning the animachine in a circle. The claws around Wren clenched tight and then loosened. Wren squirmed in her prison. If only the animachine was over water, then when Wren fell it wouldn’t be so bad—but she didn’t have more time to think about it, because the next jolt sent the animachine reeling, and its claws opened, dropping Wren into a free fall through empty air.
EIGHTEEN
Sugar and spice
And everything nice
Are not what Fiddlers are made of.
Wren was surprisingly calm as she fell. Cold air whistled past her ears, drowning out the screech of the animachine. Down she fell. On one side she could see the edge of the cliff. She plummeted into the gorge, down and down, the hard ground rushing up to meet her. She spread out her arms to either side. This was really happening. She was about to die.
With a jolt, she landed on something soft but firm. It wasn’t the ground, for she was still several hundred feet up in the air. She was no longer falling but moving forward, coasting as though she really was flying. She felt movement, the r
ecognizable sensation of wings flapping. But not animachine wings. A familiar squawk welcomed her.
“Coeur!” Wren cried, flipping over to plaster herself across the falcon’s invisible body in a hug. “You saved me!”
Coeur screeched back. Wren felt hot tears sting her eyes. She wasn’t going to die. She gave a weak laugh. She was alive! She pushed herself up into a seated position, feeling carefully for the edges of the bird’s back to orient herself. The animachines might still be out there, and even if Coeur was invisible, Wren wasn’t. Her silhouette against the very blue sky was likely enticing prey. Wren tugged hard on the lead feathers that would turn Coeur toward the city. “Fly back to Nod.”
There were no more animachine attacks. The falcon flew steadily and surely, circling around the Outsiders’ island. It took Wren a moment to realize that she knew the area well. “Have you been exploring?” she whispered to her bird. “It was you who came that night, wasn’t it?” But Coeur flew silently on. Wren was still whispering quiet thank-yous when she began to realize there was a problem. Nod was on the horizon, but Coeur wasn’t flying toward it. Instead, the bird was angling across the gullied ravines and toward a place where rock formations poked upward like thin needles reaching to the sky.
Wren tucked in closer to the falcon’s body, shutting her eyes at a narrow miss with one of the spires. Coeur ducked and dodged, cleverly navigating the spindly towers until they reached a wide valley. Wren peered down, noticing that in one area, a cluster of animals grazed, tiny dots that became recognizable as the bird prepared to land.
“Coeur! What are you doing?” Wren shouted when she saw the metal plating on their flanks. “Those are animachines! Get out of here!”