The Song of the Orphans

by Daniel Price

  Ivy died for you and this is how you repay her? Shame on you! Don’t be fooled by Rebel’s surrender. These breachers can’t be trusted. They walk hand in hand with Pelletiers.

  Only Semerjean knew how right she was. While the locals glowered at him and his friends, he looked around with a disapproving scowl. What a ridiculous little burrow these Gothams had dug for themselves, as crude and flimsy as their ethics. All it would take was an earthquake or a government invasion to bring their fake sky crashing down on their heads.

  Esis hailed him through their neural link.

  Semerjean replied in cheeky English.

  Peter beamed at the sight of a familiar figure weaving his way through the crowd. “There he is.”

  Liam had recovered nicely in the seven days since Atropos. His skin had reclaimed its healthy pink color and he once again moved with the spry, springy steps of a fourteen-year-old.

  He joined his father’s side and smiled at the others. Hannah caught his bashful gaze lingering on Mia. “Nice to see you all again.”

  “Nice to be welcomed,” Zack griped.

  “Give them time. They’ve spent months listening to Rebel and Ivy’s scare talk. Half of them still think you have horns.”

  A shrill honking noise filled the air. The onlookers parted to make room for a white-haired gentleman in a wheelless, floating golf cart.

  Peter sighed as the man disembarked. “Our first greeter,” he warned the others. “Have patience. He means well.”

  He was a short, rotund fellow in an exquisitely tailored business suit, with a hearty white mustache that drooped an inch below his jowls. Hannah could see from his walrus gut and effortless smile that life had been good to him. She couldn’t remember the last time she saw someone that contented.

  The man shook Peter’s hand, then greeted the others with a comical bow. “Welcome, my friends. Welcome! I’m Daniel Whitten: house lord of the Whittens, primarch of the lumics, and Primary Executive in Charge of Underland Operations.”

  The orphans nodded blankly, more puzzled than dazzled by the man’s many titles.

  “You can just call him Mayor,” Peter said. “We all do.”

  “A pet name,” the Mayor insisted. “Not a formal rank of office. In any case, it’s a thrill and an honor to meet you. I never thought I’d see the day when . . .” He cut himself off with a chortle. “Let’s just say these are interesting times.”

  The Mayor clutched his lapels and rocked merrily on his feet. “You’ll be pleased to know that your houses have been cleaned and fully—”

  “Houses?” Theo asked.

  “Yes. You’ll have five homes to share. If you need more . . .”

  The group shook their heads, gobsmacked. After nine months of close-quarter living, the Mayor’s news was a windfall, like inheriting Texas.

  “I hope we’re not pushing anyone out,” Amanda said.

  “No, no. Not at all. Very few of us sleep down here. We’d give you one of our surface homes but in light of your, ah, legal troubles . . .”

  Peter smiled knowingly. “We’re not going topside for a good long while.”

  Zack fought the urge to challenge him, as they still had to go to Seattle and look for the seven wayward Coppers that Melissa had told them about. He made a note to bug Peter about it later.

  The Mayor clapped his hands together. A flash of rainbow light escaped his palms. “Now which one of you is David Dormer?”

  David sheepishly waved at him. “Uh, that would be me.”

  The Mayor shook his hand. “Ah, there you are. My goodness, what a handsome boy. I hear you’re a lumic of extraordinary talent. The power of light runs strong in the Whitten family. I’ve been running the guild for seventeen years.”

  “Guild?”

  “Oh, yes, yes. There are ninety-six lumics like us in the clan. We’re a very tight community. If you’re free tonight, you can meet some of them. I know my daughter Yvonne’s dying to meet you. She’s your age and already one of our best illusionists. I think the two of you—”

  “All right,” Peter said. He patted the Mayor’s back. “Let’s give him a chance to get settled.”

  “Of course. Of course. Let me know if there’s anything you need. And welcome again. This is truly a momentous day.”

  The Mayor gave David one last smile before gliding away in his aerocart.

  “What the hell was that about?” Hannah asked Peter.

  He exchanged a weary look with Liam before answering. “There are forty-four families in the clan. Most of them are locked in endless competition with each other. They’re always quibbling over who has the strongest bloodline, the most powerful children.”

  David balked at his news. “So all that talk about his daughter was—”

  “Setup,” Peter said. “He’s already plotting the next generation of Whittens.”

  Theo blinked at him. “Is he in denial or just optimistic?”

  “A little of both. He thinks this whole end-of-the-world business will solve itself somehow. It’s a disturbingly common attitude around here.”

  A large black shadow washed over the group. They all looked up to see a flying tempic descending on them, a gaunt and stringy blonde of late middle age. She made a graceful landing on the grass, then retracted her wings into her shoulder blades. While half the Silvers flinched at the backless white leotard that left little to the imagination, the other half saw her eyes locked firmly on one of their own.

  “Amanda Given,” said the tempic. “It’s a pleasure to finally meet you.”

  Amanda awkwardly returned the handshake. “I’m afraid you have me at a, uh . . .”

  The woman squinted at Peter. “You didn’t tell her about me?”

  He met her frown with a glower. “We’ve been busy.”

  “I’m Victoria Chisholm,” she said to Amanda. “Voting head of the Chisholm family and primarch of the tempics. I’m told you’re a woman of substantial power. If that’s true, then I would gladly welcome you to join our clan’s largest guild.”

  “How large?” Zack inquired.

  “There are three hundred and sixty-three of us,” Victoria proudly replied. “Tempis is by far the most prevalent blessing among our kind. Mastery, however, is—”

  “How many of you can fly?” David asked.

  Victoria directed her answer at Amanda. “Only ten percent of us can generate aeris, and only half that number have mastered the art of wing flight. Perhaps one day you’ll join us in the sky.” She glowered at the ceiling. “Or what passes for sky here.”

  Hannah gripped Heath’s shoulder. “You know, he’s a tempic too. A really good one.”

  Victoria looked Heath up and down before throwing a scornful look at Peter. “Don’t you think that one’s better with the Majee?”

  “No,” Peter growled. “And if I hear that talk again, there’ll be trouble.”

  “Watch yourself,” Victoria snapped. “Oathbreaker.”

  She tossed a cordial nod at Amanda before spreading her wings and launching back into the air.

  Jonathan watched her fly away. “I liked the fat guy better.”

  “She won’t be a problem,” Peter promised.

  “What was all that stuff about Heath and the Magi?”

  “Majee,” Peter corrected. “It’s complicated.”

  David scanned the local populace. “Actually, I’d say it’s quite simple.”

  The others looked around and quickly caught his gist. Though there were a few tan faces among the Gothams, Heath was the only African-American in sight.

  Hannah glared at Peter. “What kind of country club shit is this?”

  “It’s not what you think.”

  “What’s ‘Maj
ee’? A racial slur?”

  “Of course not,” Liam said. “It’s their chosen name.”

  “Who?”

  Peter closed his eyes, sighing. “There are nine black families down south in Atlanta. They have their own clan, their own laws, their own skyscraper, for God’s sake. They’re doing just fine without us.”

  “Did they leave willingly?” Theo asked. “Or were they forced out?”

  Amanda could guess the answer from Peter’s expression. “They were never invited.”

  Peter rubbed his face. For all its oil-powered engines and nontemporic devices, the world of the Silvers was clearly more evolved on certain fronts. There was no good way to spin this.

  Jonathan clutched Heath’s arm. “If he’s not welcome, we’re out of here.”

  “All of us,” Hannah stressed.

  “No one’s going anywhere.” Peter dropped to a knee in front of Heath. “Look, I don’t need to tell you that there are small-minded people out there. I’m sorry to say there are some in here. But I promise you, son, I promise you—”

  “Our people will adapt,” said a soft voice behind them.

  No one had noticed her approach—a small, weathered Asian woman in a handsome dress and shawl. Peter smiled at her warmly. “Everyone, this is Prudent Lee, the primarch of the augurs. Rest easy. She’s one of the good ones.”

  Amanda wanted to believe it, but there was something about Prudent’s expression that bothered her, a glazed and sluggish dolor that strongly suggested she was on tranquilizers. If Prudent was an augur, then she had every reason in the world to sedate herself. Still, it was unnerving. Amanda also didn’t like the way she kept looking at Zack out of the corner of her eye.

  “I’m so glad to finally meet you,” Prudent said to Theo. She spoke in a slow, stammering cadence, as if she kept losing her train of thought. “I . . . cannot apologize enough for the harm my people have caused you. Rebel was my student. I should have . . . taught him better. I should have challenged him openly, as Peter did.”

  Liam shook his head. “He had us all fooled, Matron. And you had your own problems to deal with.”

  “Thank you. This has been a most difficult time. I . . .”

  She sneaked another peek at Zack before focusing on Theo. “Last year at this time, there were sixty-six augurs in the guild. Now we are half that.”

  Prudent lowered her head. “The visions have not been kind.”

  Theo winced. He could only imagine how the other augurs died: gunshots and nooses and chemical overdoses, all to shut out the images of apocalypse. “I’m sorry.”

  “Those of us who remain are eager to help,” Prudent said. “We . . . lack your ability to enter the God’s Eye willingly, though perhaps there is knowledge you have that will help us overcome this. In return, I hope that some of us can assist you in the search for the string.”

  Theo stared at her, dumbstruck. After meeting Victoria and the Mayor, he wasn’t expecting good news from any of these Gothams. But if his burden could be shared . . .

  “God, yeah, of course. Just tell me what you need.”

  “Come to my house at seven o’clock. We’ll discuss it over dinner.”

  Prudent turned to Zack. “I invite you as well.”

  He balked at her offer. “I’m no augur.”

  “No, but you’re well acquainted with my daughter, Mercy.”

  “Oh. I didn’t know she was, uh . . . how’s she doing?”

  “Not well,” Prudent admitted. “She believed in Rebel and did terrible things for him. Now that she knows his cause was . . . flawed, she’s beside herself with grief. If you could speak to her, maybe find it in your heart to forgive her, it would . . . bring her out of her dark place. I’ve lost too many loved ones to despair. I can’t lose her, too.”

  Zack traded a heavy look with Theo before shrugging in acquiescence. “Yeah. Okay.”

  Prudent squeezed his wrist. “Thank you. You’ve suffered much in recent days, but there is happiness in your future. I’ve seen it.”

  Amanda watched her suspiciously as she said her good-byes and left.

  Mia frowned at Peter. “So when do I meet the head of the travelers?”

  “You won’t.”

  “Why not?”

  “Because Esis killed her last Sunday.”

  “Oh.” Mia stuffed her hands in her pockets and stared down at the grass. She didn’t know that Ivy Sunder had been primarch, but it made perfect sense. Her replacement probably wouldn’t be extending any courtesies to Mia anytime soon. There was still so much bad blood between the Gothams and breachers. Now they were all expected to live together in this underground pressure cooker.

  Peter looked to the clock tower in the center of the village. “Come on. Let’s keep going.”

  —

  They walked down the street in a tight, anxious cluster. Though the locals went back to their normal Sunday business, the orphans felt the heat of a hundred glares as Peter escorted them through town.

  Along the way, he drowned them all in idle trivia. The underland occupied 22.4 million cubic feet of space and was powered by four hundred solic generators. It was connected to the surface by thirty elevators, ten stairwells, one sloping tunnel, and a volunteer team of travelers who remained on call, like a taxi service. Below their feet lay the land beneath the underland: a vast network of tunnels containing survival bunkers and emergency supplies, enough to sustain a thousand people for years. The Gothams were prepared to withstand almost any calamity the good Lord threw at them, everything short of apocalypse. In a better mood, Zack would have almost found that funny.

  As the procession continued toward the village square, David saw a young mother clutch her toddler defensively, as if the forces of Sauron had invaded the Shire. A creepy-looking man stared intently at Amanda. Mia couldn’t tell if he wanted to kill her or kiss her.

  Hannah shot a surly look at Peter. “This isn’t the Brigadoon you sold us on.”

  “I never promised a confetti welcome,” he said. “Just safety.”

  “Then why do I feel like setting bear traps around my bed tonight?”

  “I told you, everyone here’s sworn an oath of armistice. They can’t lay a finger on you.”

  Soon the group reached the square at the base of the clock tower, one of the nicest parks that Theo had ever seen. Among the fountains and flowers and the wrought-iron benches stood a pair of black stone walls, each one chiseled with hundreds of markings.

  Zack took a closer look at the wall on the left, a visual directory of the clan’s forty-four families. They were all linked to each other through a twisting array of dotted lines.

  “Marriages,” he guessed. He turned to Peter. “You only shack up with your own kind.”

  “Have to. It’s the law.”

  “And how many of these things are, uh . . . ?”

  “Arranged?” Peter smiled wanly. “Only some families do that. The rest of us pick who we like.”

  As long as they’re a Gotham, Zack thought bitterly. It seemed these people, like the Pelletiers, had their own arbitrary rules about who could entwine with whom.

  Mia was intrigued by the other wall, an extensive list of all the talent guilds and their members. Some of the classifications were utterly foreign.

  “What’s a turner?” she asked Liam.

  “The temporal reversers, like Zack and Mother Olga.”

  “Mother Olga?”

  “Their primarch,” Liam explained. “Best healer we have. You’ll meet her soon enough. She’s a good woman.”

  David stood behind them and squinted at the directory. “What’s a subthermic?”

  “They’re like me,” Liam said. “Except instead of burning things, they freeze them.”

  “Huh.” David looked to Mia. “Like that woman we fought at Terra Vista.”

 
Mia scowled and moved away from him. He knew damn well what a subthermic was. He was just trying to wheedle his way back into her good graces. Remember that time I saved your life? Remember?

  Heath looked up at the huge roster of tempics. Some of the names, like Victoria Chisholm’s, featured a bird-wing icon. All of them were followed by a number.

  Liam tapped the 98 next to Victoria’s name. “Everyone takes a power test once a year. They’re graded on a hundred-point scale.”

  “Why?”

  “Good question,” said Liam. “For some parents, a kid’s power score is more important than their school grades. It’s good for bragging. Good for marrying your son or daughter into a more powerful family, like the Whittens or the Sunders.”

  Heath lowered his head. “I don’t like this place.”

  Mia frowned at him. “Heath . . .”

  “It’s okay,” Liam said. “We deserve it after everything we did to you. Lord knows, you folks have seen the worst of us.”

  “But you haven’t seen the best,” Peter added. He approached the guild directory and pointed to a stately engraving at the top.

  HUMANITY. HUMILITY. TEMPERANCE.

  “We’re good people at heart,” he said. “We look out for each other. We teach our kids to use their gifts responsibly, with compassion. We’re not raising gods or monsters here. We just want to live our lives, like the rest of the world.”

  He gripped Liam’s shoulders. “We just want to live.”

  Amanda took a solemn look at the strangers around her, all grim-faced and nervous. She’d been given only four minutes to prepare for the death of her world. These people had four years. Four years to fret, four years to cry, four years to clench their fists and scream at their gods.

  “We’ll give them a chance,” she promised Peter. “We’ll work with your people, but they have to work with us. They have to realize once and for all that we’re not the cause of their problem.”

  Zack nodded his fervent agreement. “And that we’re not Pelletiers.”

  “You got us this far,” Hannah said to Peter. “Make them understand.”