by J. F. Penn
Maybe the fresh air would revive them. Maybe together, they could help Sienna.
“Finn,” Zoe croaked, her voice hoarse from the smoke. She stared down at the rebel leader’s handsome face, sooty with ash and bloody from his wounds. “Wake up, please.”
Finn stirred. His eyelids fluttered as he groaned and reached for Zoe’s hand.
“Sienna,” he gasped from his burned throat, his voice breaking with the effort. His face contorted with pain and Zoe could see how much it cost him to speak.
Zoe squeezed his hand. “It’s okay. I’ll go to her. Follow when you can.”
She saw doubt in the rebel Borderlander’s eyes, but Zoe knew he couldn’t make it up those stairs right now, let alone face whatever lay in the tower above.
“It will be okay.” She tried to hide the desperation in her voice. Finn and Titus were out of action, so she would have to go alone to face whatever was left in this dark place. Creatures of nightmare or Sienna herself, transformed.
Zoe left the men and crawled around the perimeter of the library, one hand on the rough wall to guide her. After a few meters, she turned back. Finn and Titus had already faded from view, obscured by the billowing smoke.
She was alone.
The black staircase emerged from the gloom. Zoe pulled herself to her feet and began to climb. She could hear something in the tower above, a cacophony of sound that drowned out the flames below. But she couldn’t hear Sienna.
Zoe ran up the steps, driving herself on with every ounce of energy she had left. Was she already too late?
24
Zoe reached the top of the stairs and rushed through the door, her breath ragged from running. Hideous figures carved on the walls around her seemed to move as she walked past, trapped in grotesque portraits of suffering, writhing in unending agony.
Smoke whirled in the air from the fire below, along with shadows that formed into tattered creatures of claw and fang. Zoe’s heart hammered in fear, but she forced herself to step further into the room.
Sienna spun slowly in a vortex of shadow in the center of a circle of skulls. Her eyes were closed, but she smiled in delight as dusky mist contorted around her, bearing her up into the air like a celebratory offering. The patterns on her skin twisted in dizzy formation. The sound of many voices joined in a chorus. A harsh discord, like all the wrong notes played at once, and behind them, the fleshy sound of beating, whips hitting flesh, the thud of fists, the cries of the tortured.
The silver compass lay on the floor next to the skulls, its face sprung open to show the five-pointed design and the lines of Bath within.
Zoe bent to pick it up. One of the shadow creatures lunged at her, swiping with claws of rotted flesh, the stench of the grave rising up around them. Zoe rolled sideways, grabbing the compass as she did so, pulling it to her chest with one hand.
The specter leapt upon her back, its skeletal fingers freezing her flesh as it tried to wrest the compass away. It opened its maw and instead of rotting teeth; the thing had writhing maggots inside. They tumbled out over Zoe. She wriggled and screamed as the things burrowed into her skin, her breath coming in terrified gasps.
She threw up her hands and opened her eyes, allowing her vision to shift. The strings of the world appeared, and she saw that the ghoul of smoke was merely a creature of lies and deception, the maggots merely motes of dust on her skin. Zoe grasped the cords of shadow, her fingers darting through the air as she twisted the threads together, binding the creatures behind a lattice of their own substance. They moaned and twisted in desperation, clawing for her eyes, but the net held.
She crawled to the outside of the circle of skulls, clutching tightly to the compass. The dark well reached to the edge of the bony perimeter and something inside told her not to step into that vortex or she would be lost in the world between, trapped in the obsidian shards in the temple below the border.
“Sienna,” she shouted, but the cacophony that whirled about her friend drowned her voice.
She held up the compass and called once more into the maelstrom. “For Galileo, Sienna. For your grandfather. For Earthside.”
High above the clouds, Sienna heard someone call her name. A voice from home. Zoe.
The beautiful woman by her side tugged on her hand, distracting her. She pointed down at a giant creature below them just under the waves, scales like a dragon with a long neck and powerful jaws. It was terrifying and glorious all at once — and part of her domain if she would just become one with the Shadow. A promise of the world held out in exchange for what? Her blood, her life?
Zoe’s voice came again. It was faint, but Sienna could just make out her words. For Galileo.
A flash of memory and the world darkened. Sienna saw her grandfather in the copse of plane trees in the Circus on a stormy night in Bath. A pack of wolves closed around him as he painted the sigil of the Illuminated on the earth with his blood, then gave his life to seal the border. Sir Douglas in the robes of a wolf reached down and took the compass, an offering to the darkness that ruled his life. But her grandfather had vanquished the Shadow that night and his blood called to her now.
Dr Rachel’s voice came back to her from the clinic. The Shadow is not always what it seems.
Sienna looked over at the ageless young woman whose hand she held so tightly, then down at the Borderlands below. She could not be up here. There was no icy water, no drowning. She had stepped into the vortex — she must still be down there. This was all some kind of vision designed to distract her.
A howling rose up and the wind whipped them as lashes of rain descended. The woman gripped her hand more tightly, her eyes fixed on Sienna’s, a triumphant smile on her lips. Was it too late?
They fell out of the sky, tumbling together through darkness and hail, the clash of lightning as if the gods raged about them.
But Sienna pushed it all aside and opened her eyes.
She spun within the vortex of shadow — and she held the dried hand of a desiccated corpse made from mis-matched pieces of mangled cadavers, those lost to the Shadow over generations. A husk somehow sustained by dark blood magic.
Sienna desperately tried to thrust the hand away from her, but the shriveled flesh had fused to her own, their skin merging together. The symbols on her body spun ever faster as the silver mist crept up her arm, bringing with it flashes of memory.
A young woman in robes of Marian blue tied to an altar within a circle of skulls, surrounded by hooded figures. Mapwalkers from long ago — those of the Illuminated and those of the Shadow, joined in one moment to split the worlds. They slashed her skin and as her blood ran red; they bound her with a net of magic to this place — a vortex to hold the worlds in balance created by a Weaver.
The woman had held equilibrium in place for a time, but over generations, Earthside Mapwalkers withdrew, leaving the Borderlands to the Shadow. It had taken hold and slowly, slowly, turned the world toward darkness.
But it needed a host, and the withered corpse before her was finished.
As the silver mist receded from what was left, the body began to crumble, leaving only ash and dust in its wake. It was up to Sienna’s elbow now and she knew that once it reached her heart, she would no longer be able to stop it.
A rush of wind from the opening high above in the vaulted ceiling. The storm was almost overhead. Lightning flashed from heavy clouds, creatures of winged terror flying within. If the Shadow could not take her alive, then Sienna knew it would destroy this tower and all within it. Her friends would die, the border would remain closed, perhaps forever, and Earthside would be wracked with disaster.
She thought of her father and her grandfather, how much they had given to uphold the secrets of the Mapwalkers — and Bridget, tied to the maps themselves, her life blood pulsing with ink.
This path was her true heritage. She had been lost before the Ministry with no purpose, no direction. She had always longed for the world beyond the map — and now she stood at the heart of it. The young wom
an had held the worlds in balance for generations. Perhaps she could, too.
It was a chance to renew the worlds, save Earthside, and give the Borderlands a chance to thrive. It was everything she had wanted — for Finn, for Mila and Ekon, for those back on Earthside.
The Shadow was within her and on her skin in the writhing symbols and yet, a part of her still clung to Earthside, to her Mapwalker lineage. Her grandfather’s blood had closed the border that night, perhaps her own would open it again. Use the compass once more, Sir Douglas had whispered in his dying words. For Galileo.
Tears spilled down her cheeks as Sienna desperately searched for a way she could make it work — but every path led her back to this place. There was no other way, but she would go on her own terms. The compass would be her anchor to Earthside.
The silver mist rose higher and cold crept over her skin. She was almost out of time.
Sienna turned to the edge of the vortex. Zoe stood on the lip of the circle of skulls, holding out the silver compass. Her lips moved, but the wind drowned her words.
Sienna remembered the moment in the winds as they descended into Egypt. Zoe had heard the voice that time. Perhaps she could hear through the wind now.
“I need your help.”
At the words, Zoe stopped speaking and nodded.
“There’s only one way to stop this. Throw the compass in and then bind me with cords of light and shadow.”
Zoe shook her head, her eyes wide with horror.
“You must do it.” Sienna nodded down at the rising mist. “If the Shadow takes me first, I may not be able to balance the worlds. But this way … it gives us more time, Zoe. Do this and then go back to Bridget. Search the annals for another way. But now, I choose this path.”
The desiccated corpse began to split into fragments, chunks of it breaking off to dissolve into the spinning wind.
“Hurry! We’re out of time.”
Sienna took the ritual knife from her pocket, the blade that her grandfather had used to shed his blood and save Earthside once before. As the wind whipped around her, she drew it down her arm, blood rising and spinning away, droplets joining the vortex.
Screams echoed from within the Shadow as the last of the corpse split into dark beads, joining with Sienna’s blood. Like calling to like.
“Now!” Sienna shouted. She saw Zoe throw the compass as the mist rose to encompass her.
She sensed the expanse of the world outside, a blossoming of power within, that could rise up and spread across both lands. Sienna wanted to tear it all apart, ravage every last inch and absorb the power of those who thought they could stand against the Shadow.
The silver compass tumbled into the whirlwind.
It hung in the air, opening to reveal the lines of Bath, carved by her grandfather’s hand. With the last of her strength, Sienna reached out and hugged it to her chest.
“For Galileo,” she whispered as lines of silver, blood and shadow formed a net around her.
Zoe wept as she weaved the threads of the world together, her fingers flashing through the air as she created a lattice of magic, a net to hold Sienna within the Tower of the Winds. Tears ran down her cheeks as she trapped her friend within the vortex, Sienna’s slender frame now obscured by swirling blood and ash.
She could only hope that she had done the right thing, that somehow Bridget would know how to undo it all, to set Sienna free once more. But deep within, Zoe knew this was the only way.
Fate had bound a Weaver to their journey for this purpose — and now that purpose was fulfilled. The path of her own heritage and Sienna’s bloodline had always been entwined. Zoe understood the truth of that now. For Weavers had always known the lines of the world were spun by fate. They were only instruments of destiny, and now Zoe could see that her own path had always been laid out this way.
She stitched the final element of Sienna’s bloody prison and stepped back from the edge, her hands dropping to her sides.
“No!” Finn limped into the tower, his hand clutched to his side, his clothes covered in ash. “What have you done?”
He staggered over and pushed Zoe roughly aside, then lunged at the vortex for Sienna. His hand bounced off the perimeter, leaving his knuckles bloody and bruised as if he had punched a wall. He tried again and again, every blow coming back at him until he fell to his knees, broken and exhausted.
He looked up with tears in his eyes as Sienna spun unseeing behind her cage of silver and crimson.
Zoe knelt down beside him. “It was her choice,” she whispered.
Finn shook his head. “There was never anyone else. Your people sent her here for this, even if she didn’t know it.”
Zoe remembered the woman in the mosaic beneath the border and the book in the library that first day with the hand-sketched figure in ash. Perhaps he was right. Perhaps Bridget had known all along. But had there been any other way?
The storm calmed outside, the sound of thunder rolling away to nothing. Blue sky opened up in the skylight above and the sound of birdsong filled the air.
Zoe stood up and pulled back the heavy drapes from one window, letting the light inside. A sunbeam struck the whirling vortex that surrounded Sienna and the remains of ash within dissolved. It shone with ruby and golden light, reflecting into every part of the room.
The altar with its grisly sacrifice crumbled to dust, and the shadow creatures dissolved in the light. The carved abominations in the walls turned into patterns of flowers and fruit, an abundance of nature.
Zoe turned around in wonder, a smile dawning on her face. Somehow Sienna had shifted the balance of power and the Shadow was no longer the dominant force in the Borderlands.
She turned to Finn. “Help me open them all.”
Together, they pulled open the other drapes, allowing light to stream into every corner. As the tower brimmed full, the light rolled out the windows once more, down the sides of the building and out onto the plains beyond. Flowers bloomed in its wake, the air filled with the scent of summer as the golden hue spread into the distance, illuminating the Borderlands for the first time in generations.
25
Finn stared out the window, Zoe beside him, as the land below bloomed under the golden light. There was a buoyancy in the air where there had only been heaviness before, a sense of the world pivoting.
“This is more than just the renewal of the border,” he said. “It’s the restoration of the land itself. The Borderlands can thrive again without the dominance of the Shadow.” He spun around to look at the vortex where Sienna spun within. “She has changed everything. The Resistance can take back Old Aleppo, purge my father’s forces. It’s a new beginning.”
He walked back to the edge of the circle of skulls and reached out a hand, holding it only a millimeter from the spinning vortex. It was as close as he could get to Sienna through the veil when just this morning he had woken with her in his arms. The warmth of her body, the smell of her hair, how she had fitted so perfectly against him. It was how he hoped to wake every day for the rest of his life, but now …
Finn bit his lip as he tried to hold back the tears that threatened. She had chosen to leave him for the final time and the blood of a Mapwalker was now the hope of the Borderlands. He would honor her sacrifice and live on for the land they both loved — but now he would do it alone.
In the library under the Ministry back in Bath, Bridget sensed a sudden tension in the maps, the pulsing of ink beat more strongly within her veins. The rustling around her grew louder as cartography began to shift and re-form, as if the very fabric of the world had shifted.
She turned to the desk and pulled out the volume of Mapwalker annals. She opened it to a page marked with a scarlet silk thread. A figure sketched in ash on its ivory pages, her features suddenly clear.
Sienna, wrapped in a shroud of shadow and light in the midst of a whirling vortex of blood. Her life force would sustain the border and keep the Shadow at bay — at least for a time. The border was renewed and the n
atural disasters would soon end on Earthside as the world moved freely once more.
Tears ran down Bridget’s cheeks as she reached out a fingertip and touched the face of the young woman trapped within the Tower of the Winds. Sienna was bound to her Mapwalker destiny just as Bridget was herself shackled to the library, a balance of Blood Cartographers until their lifespans ended or someone else took their place.
A gasp came from behind her, then a low moan of despair. Bridget turned to see John staring down at the sketch of his daughter. He sank to his knees and Bridget knelt to embrace him as they mourned the end of one time and the beginning of another.
Mila felt a shift in the water as she darted between the ripples of the river heading west toward the coast. It was as if all sharp edges became smooth for a moment and then reset themselves, like an earthquake passing beneath the mantle of the earth, lifting and lowering everything in its wake.
She glanced behind to check on the twins and by the look on their faces; they felt it too. Something had changed in the Borderlands and somehow, Mila knew that Sienna had made it to the Tower of the Winds.
They swam fast over submerged boulders, translucent skin flashing in the sunlight that dappled down through the water. Mila led the twins on. No time for stopping, and no need to. They all reveled in the freedom of being one with the water.
Up ahead, Mila heard the thundering of a waterfall. The river frothed, churning as it became shallow in places, and carving deep in others. Eddies and whirlpools formed at the sides. Daniel slipped into one, laughing with delight as he spun around. Dawn joined him, and the twins flew in circles hand in hand, dancing in the water.
Mila smiled as she watched them play, remembering her own solitary life in the canals of London and later in Bath. No one understood her. No one laughed with her. But that would all change now.
The Mapwalker team had been her home for a time, but losing Xander had been a heavy blow. Sienna would always be a friend, but her powerful blood meant she stood apart and her choices were beyond reach now.