“I’m not here to hurt you,” Garros said, his voice making rounds along the chamber’s walls.
Lys’ answer was silence. And then: “How could you ever?”
Garros took a step closer to Lys, eyes on the tentacles, ready to move back if they showed any signs of threatening movement. “I wouldn’t. I’m just here to talk. I want to know what I can about you.”
“So you can hurt me later?”
“Yes,” said Garros.
“Who could fathom the cruel identity of, he, she, whomever, the god that failed? Is it a he, a man fallen from grace, godly once, crafted by lavish gardens . . ,” whispered Lys calmly before punctuating with a minor chuckle.
What this monster had just uttered was an ancient poem written by an author whose identity was never discovered. Though it was grim, it was often considered beautiful by the studious of literature; Lys’ monotone reading made it appear less like art and more like a threat.
“How do you know those words?”
“Because you do,” said Lys. “Because your people wrote them, learned them, died knowing them, and then returned to me. Nothing is lost when you and yours turn into my flesh. Every last piece of knowledge and feeling you’ve known or felt in the last centuries now lives inside me.”
Garros frowned, took a step back.
Lys began to speak again, but this time in dead languages he could only recognize by sound but not by meaning. He switched languages three times effortlessly, and then, he returned to the language Garros knew.
“I’ve traveled, fallen, dissolved, and been reborn more times than I care to count. Each time I’ve grown in every way—I’ve grown smarter, I’ve grown larger and stronger, I’ve grown kinder.”
Garros took a step closer, close enough to recognize ashen versions of Alice’s eyes staring at him, following his every movement.
“Not once,” Lys growled. “Had I grown angrier.”
Garros stopped.
“I’ve traveled and grew and then, there was you. I took you in, and you tasted bitter in my mouth. You tasted of death. You gave me the will to destroy, and I cannot be stopped. The awakening of my brother marked the time of my return to flesh, and I know you believe he can fight me. He can’t. None of you can. There is no force on this world except my own who can stop me. He knows this now. He’s coming.”
“Your brother—you mean Milos Ravana?” asked Garros.
“I will crush you. I will not even clean your remains from my feet, and your extinction will only be the beginning. I will make sure this universe quickly forgets your kind ever existed. Not one trace of your memory, of anything you’ve done, accomplished, or built, will remain,” Lys said, and it was like all the light, all the warmth, had been sucked from the city. “You will be gone, and the universe will not miss you.”
Their impending doom had never felt more real.
Enraged, Garros charged at Lys and stretched his arms, grabbing Alice by the hips. He wouldn’t let him use her lips to speak one more word of such shameless evil.
He pulled Alice’s rotten body away from him, snapping her from the wires that bound her to the monster; Lys didn’t try to stop him—the stone giant was immobile, and now thankfully mouthless.
Alice fell apart in his hands, dissolving and falling into the chasm, towards the giant’s feet.
Still frozen by the words, Garros stood there, feet just a few inches away from the deadly fall to the chasm, looking at his hands as the last of the Alice-dust fell away from him.
“Garros?”
He turned around.
At the other side of the circular blue pit there stood Akiva, who cradled Erin in his arms, still wrapped in sheets and blankets like a newborn. Akiva’s eyes were almost as tired as hers as she looked down at the blue pit, afraid of it, then up at Akiva.
Akiva looked at Erin and then at Garros.
“What are you doing here?” asked Garros, taking a step towards them.
“Before you die,” said Akiva in the high-pitched voice of someone who was on the verge of tears. Akiva closed his eyes. “Before you die, you’ll understand.”
His wife turned her eyes to Garros and he immediately saw them grow horrified, already caught in one unavoidable motion. “Akiva, stop! No!”
Akiva stretched his arms and let go of her.
Erin screamed her final word as she fell into the blue and dissolved in its light.
Garros was already on the floor, eyes barely still on this world, when Akiva took the same step forward and fell to join Erin in the blue fire at the heart of the world.
Chapter 20
Heaven and Helena
Can bad things happen for good reasons?
It was a question that had lingered in his mind ever since he once posed it before Nandi, though he never heard the Minotaur’s response.
And now he posed it to himself in silence.
The sensation of relief he had felt when he saw Rose Xibalba take a knee by the edge of Wiege had been strong enough to knot up his throat, but it didn’t last. Despite how Poole looked exhausted and weakened from a long journey of little food and less sleep—one he had taken himself, not long before—he had hugged her hard enough to keep her from breathing.
“What happened to you?” she asked once he finally freed her.
He often forgot about the radical change his demeanor had taken. Where he had once been clean-shaven and thick-haired, fair-skinned and bright-eyed, he was now fuzzy in the chin, bald, burned, beaten, and scarred. Ezra could tell she had taken time to recognize him.
Then, when they exchanged stories to let each other know the paths behind them, what had been discovered, and what had been lost, it was like a competition to see who had endured more pain.
“My mother?” he asked first, once they had found some privacy within the island. He was terrified of the answer. “My father, my sisters?”
“They’re all alive,” Poole answered. “But they might be in danger. Things went horribly wrong after you guys left. I felt like I should’ve come here with you. Maybe things would have gone differently.”
Poole told her story first. Zenith was closed down, and the crew had to move to his mother’s house to keep the spirit of the facility alive. Rebecca had either hanged herself, or had been killed by Tessa. Jed and Dr. Mustang had died when attempting to escape Zenith. His mother had killed Tessa. Poole had killed Governor Heath.
He couldn’t help but shoot angry glances at Jena when Poole confirmed what he had seen in his own escape: Tessa had been the betrayer within Zenith’s ranks.
And now she was dead.
He had kissed her. And now she was dead.
It was like he had grown desensitized to it all. Though Poole spared them the details to the deaths she had witnessed, they all seemed just like painful inevitabilities now.
And then it was his turn, but Jena took the reins of the narrative. She described their own journey to Clairvert and back: the islands, Lazarus, Erin’s capability to control him, the ruins of Kerek, Clairvert, Akiva, Heath’s brother, Garros and Erin’s marriage, the Caduceus, and the extreme case of Hormesis that had taken over them. She told them about the repeater within the caves, Malachi’s death, their talk to Lys and whose face it was wearing. She described the deaths of Farren and William, the attack, and their escape.
“We have to go up there,” Felix said. “If it’s been five days and there’s been no sign of the others, something had to have gone wrong. We need to go up to that city.”
“Yes. Maybe we do,” said Ezra.
“Listen, Ezra, before you go anywhere: I needed to tell you guys everything,” said Poole. “Your mother told me to let you know. I don’t know why, but . . . maybe you should go back there. You and Jena, at least.”
Jena looked around, unsure. “We have a responsibility here, Vivian.”
“We have a responsibility in the city in the north,” argued Felix. “Those are our friends you left there.”
“We didn’t leave any
one there,” Ezra snarled and began to breathe heavily. “You’re right, Poole: I need to see my mother. You said Heath and Tessa are dead but she’s not safe. I know Lys knows about Roue. There has to be a way to get the people to safety, somewhere. When Lys awakens, it’ll destroy Roue first.”
“It was your mission to stop that,” said Felix.
“You don’t understand,” replied Jena. “It can’t be stopped. It can only be fought, and we couldn’t find the missing pieces of Milos Ravana. I think maybe the others have, that’s why they haven’t come here. They’re ready to fight it.”
“If that’s the case we should go north, and join them,” said Vivian.
“But Roue is defenseless!” said Ezra. “You said every pilot is either dead, or right here. How do you expect they’ll be able to protect themselves if Lys attacks—if any of the remaining Flecks attacks? There’s six Creuxen left and three places to guard. How are we supposed to do this?”
None of them could make their mind about the next course of action.
It was killing him. Protect Roue. Fight Lys. Protect Wiege.
What would Erin do?
—choose to go north or to go south. Choose life or choose death—
It was still happening.
“What’s causing it?” Poole asked, looking first at Felix and then at Ezra. “I know you feel it too. Maybe you didn’t see, or haven’t seen, what we saw on the other side of the mountains, that mirror of water, but you feel the skips. What is it?”
“We don’t know either,” said Jena. “It started just hours ago. People here don’t trust us because they think it’s the same thing that drove them crazy in Clairvert.”
“It’s not that,” said Felix, interrupting. Ezra didn’t like the man. “Every one of us is feeling it, everyone in this island is feeling it. It has to be something else. Something much stronger than the Blues, something that might not even have anything to do with the Creux. We saw the distortion; that’s what’s causing it. Crescent, Blanchard, I don’t intend to stay here. I’m going north to find the city and join Garros and Erin. I’d like one of you to guide me, but if you won’t, I’ll be going alone.”
Jena and Ezra looked at each other, hesitant.
“I leave tonight, in a few hours,” said Felix. “Please let me have some of your food, let me have a place to rest for a while, and then tell me what you decide.”
An hour later, Jena and Poole sat cross-legged on either side of Ezra, eyes on the large mound under which Farren had been buried—the one quiet place in all of Wiege, where they’d be safe to talk.
“Where are you going to go?” asked Jena, and either one of them was welcome to answer. “I can’t take that decision for you, if that’s what you’re waiting for.”
“I hate to admit that a part of me was,” said Ezra, amused. “I want to go to Roue and protect the city, protect my family. We might not be able to stop Lys from coming back, but—but that’s also why I think I should be up there in Clairvert, fighting with Erin and Garros and Akiva.”
“Jena, this place . . . it seems safe. You made the right choice bringing these people here. Are you sure you need to stay to lead them or protect them?” Poole asked. “We didn’t see any living Flecks on our way here, you know. Maybe they’re all gone.”
“I’m not comfortable taking that chance. Felix is taking Iron Seraphim up to fight in Clairvert. They might not need me there at all.” She scoffed and wiped her hands down her face as though the situation was amusing. “I can’t believe we’re being put in this position.”
“Why did my mother ask you to come?” asked Ezra. “She had to know Roue would be left without a single Creux to defend it.”
“I suppose so, Ezra Blanchard,” she said. He had missed the way in which she spoke his full name, even if he didn’t like it. “Your mother is brilliant. Maybe it would be smart to stick to what she planned, to keep us up here while she works down there.”
Ezra clenched his jaw. “I need to see my family.”
“Well. Honestly, I’d understand if you made that choice; it’s probably what I would do,” Poole said. She got up from the moist grass and approached the tomb. “Who was this man?”
Ezra couldn’t answer. All the hatred he had gathered for Farren had been an illusion, a trap created by a fabrication of his own mind. All he knew was that he—
“He died saving my life,” said Jena. “He was a soldier, like us.”
Poole got up and grabbed the piece of wood, the makeshift headstone, which had fallen from its place. She stabbed the mound of earth with it, and they all saw the tomb shift.
ф
The acting guard captain found Garros on the floor.
“Where are the others?” the man yelled, his voice booming and trembling, as he shook Garros’ limp body. “I saw the other two come in here, where did they go? What happened to them? What happened to the woman in the wires?”
His vision was trapped in a tunnel, and there was only blue light at the end of it. Four times he had seen his wife die—once, the final one, at the hands of one he had deemed a friend.
Assimilated, burnt, crushed, and dissolved. She had fallen four times, and had only risen three.
Before you die, you’ll understand.
Stay together, we’ll be all right.
Even through the tunnel, which seemed to begin to stretch farther and farther, Garros could tell that the place had begun to change. He looked up at the man, who was turning around, trying to scrutinize the entire sanctum as it began to shift.
The blue light of the pit which had taken his wife was turning white.
Screams of a million voices poured through—a gate to hell.
The ground was shaking. Small cracks formed in the rock-hard floor.
Yes. The whole world was trembling. Yet, he wasn’t.
“No—no, what is that!” the man said and took several steps back. “Garros, sir—get up! Garros, please get up, man!”
The fear in his voice is what finally convinced him to look away from the mouth that had taken Erin’s life. The stone giant’s hands had moved. When once they had been close to its chest, grabbing on to the body of Alice, now they were stretched to the sides, its massive arms almost circling around the entire chamber. The removal of its hands had uncovered a large hole in the middle of its chest, from where the wire-like tentacles stemmed like veins exposed through a deadly wound. All but one of the wires had retracted to the giant’s heart.
The other one—
Garros sat up when he heard a deep rumble, an animal’s growl.
The wire that had taken William Heath’s dead body retracted as it twisted and slithered more violently than ever.
Something crawled from beyond the chasm: first he saw a large and thin spider-like leg. Then another, and then another.
The monster at the end of the wire revealed itself finally.
Climbing up the deadly fall was an arachnid monstrosity. As it continued climbing up to reveal more and more of its body, Garros could appreciate just how large the thing was: larger than a Fleck, and much more disturbing to behold. It had a humanoid face at the end of a long neck that grew thicker and thicker to a muscular torso, something elephantine that then forked into many legs of many different lengths and thicknesses. It was entirely asymmetrical, entirely unnatural.
“Do you . . .” it growled in an inhuman voice as it finally stood at its full size between Garros and the stone giant. Flecks had no speaking capabilities; this was something else. “Do you fear?”
It brought down one of its massive spider-like legs just a few feet away from Garros, and he saw it bend with the pressure of the impact—it was not fully formed yet.
It was then, when the creature’s face was close enough to him, that he was able to recognize the twisted features of William Heath. Lys’ tentacles had not killed him—they had infected him.
Garros grabbed the bottom of the monster’s leg with his hand and used all of his available strength to twist it. It s
uddenly snapped off. The monster roared, and Garros said: “No.”
The monster brought down another leg, this time not looking to intimidate but to kill. Garros rolled to the side to avoid it, and scrambled to his feet.
No, he would not die there. He would not die until he understood.
The other soldier had run from the sanctum upon seeing the creature that emerged from where Heath had disappeared. Garros needed to leave—he didn’t know if he could fight the monster; he only knew, for certain, that he couldn’t fight it there.
Garros ran back to the tunnel.
“Their time is now!” the Heath monster roared. “Do you see?”
The ground shook so strongly that Garros lost his footing and fell to the floor. He turned around and used a wall to find his balance again. The blue pit no longer cradled peaceful blue light—it was a whirlpool of blindingly white light tainted by dark hues that rose and fell up and down its funnel. It was growing in size as the chaotic power of the energy broke the stone floor, created forking cracks that reached even his feet. Shards of stone began to fall and shatter from the ceiling in a deadly rain.
And then: the black and white light exploded upward with a thunderous roar, and Garros was blind and deaf.
While he recovered his senses, he finally understood: Lys was rising.
Garros ran away.
He’d see his wife again, but he was not ready to die yet. His story was not over.
The quakes were not localized to Lys’ sanctum—the whole peak appeared as though it was ready to collapse under the enormous power stirring inside.
Garros ran out of the tunnel and into the chapel to find the remaining citizens of Clairvert already being ushered out of the room, out into the city proper. His lungs were filling with fire, burning at his throat. He could almost hear Erin’s voice somewhere in the screams, somewhere in the roar of the whirlpool growing in the room behind him.
“Bring me your fear!” The monster roared, his voice booming from the other room through the tunnel.
Garros felt the fire in his stomach gain strength because he knew he’d have to fight it, and he didn’t know how—he couldn’t without Ares.
The Unfinished World (The Armor of God Book 2) Page 29