City of Spells

by Alexandra Christo

  Could she hold on if the spirits tried to take her?

  This wasn’t her time. This wasn’t how it was supposed to happen.

  And yet.

  And yet.

  “Long live the Kingpin,” the Crafter said.

  He raised the gun again.

  Karam waited for the warm light to reach her eyes and for the spirits to cross over into this world to ferry her back into theirs.

  They didn’t come.

  They didn’t need to.

  A sword cut through the Crafter, from shoulder to torso, slicing him nearly clean in half. He fell to the beach without a scream or a gasp, just the sound of a thump in the sand.

  Karam caught a final glimpse of Arjun, sword held high, before her eyes got too heavy to keep open.

  “Karam,” Arjun said. “Don’t do this to me.”

  She could hear his voice break, but she couldn’t see him.

  She could only see Saxony’s face, Saxony’s smile, and Saxony’s freckles.

  Just Saxony, laughing.

  Saxony, pulling her beautiful hair back from her face.

  Saxony making her promise to come back alive.

  “Karam!”

  * * *

  KARAM SHOT up and reached instinctively for her knife, but the clearing where she and Arjun had set up camp was quiet.

  She touched a hand to her heart. It was beating normally, fine, as though death hadn’t come looking for her.

  “Bad dream?” Arjun asked.

  He sat up from the ground where he had been sleeping beside her.

  “I’m okay,” she said.

  Arjun didn’t look convinced, but Karam was too tired for convincing.

  “How is it?” Arjun asked, gesturing to her chest.

  The place the bullet had gone in.

  Where Karam’s hand still pressed against her heartbeat.

  “You healed it fine,” she said. “As though it never happened.”

  But it had happened.

  Too much had happened.

  “We should leave when the sun comes up,” Karam said. “We’ve spent too long here.”

  Here being the Barren Woods of Tisvgen, where Arjun had taken her to heal the rest of her wound. It was a short walk from the Shores of the Dead, and the only shelter they had. It had been three days now—two of which Arjun had spent finishing off the healing on Karam’s wound and his own—plus this one, where all Karam wanted to do was go back to Rishiya.

  If Nolan had sent them here to be killed, then who knew what he had sent back to Rishiya to kill their army? Karam couldn’t let anyone else die, not after everything.

  Not after Asees.

  “We can’t use the railways,” Arjun said. “I haven’t seen any trains when I’ve gone back to the shores to scout. They’re not coming here anymore.”

  They both knew what that meant: Something had happened or was happening out in the world. Dante Ashwood’s hold must have been growing and when Karam finally faced Saxony and Tavia again, what would she have to help them? This mission she had been so sure of had brought them nothing but pain.

  She hadn’t found Wesley. She’d only lost Asees and the six other Crafters from the Grankan Kin they had recruited.

  Karam had wanted to prove she could do some good in this war, and all she had done was lose them more soldiers.

  “We’re never going back,” Arjun said.

  “Don’t say that.”

  “We’re stuck here.”

  “We’re not. There has to be a way back.”

  “A way back? Neither of us can swim!” Arjun yelled. “And even if we could, it’s miles and miles across the waters. There are no trains, do you hear me? There is nothing between us and Rishiya. We can’t go back. We’re trapped here and we’ll die here, just like Asees and the others.”

  He threw the blankets off of himself and stood. Karam wasn’t sure what she could do but stand by his side. There wasn’t anything she could say to make it better.

  “I don’t know what to do,” Arjun said, burying his face in his hands. “They’re all still on the beach. She’s still…”

  He dropped off and shook his head, collapsing down beside the small fire they had lit before they drifted off to sleep.

  The bodies of his Kin were still scattered across the Shores of the Dead. Karam and Arjun hadn’t had the time to give them a proper funeral, and apparently nobody was coming to Tisvgen anymore.

  “That’s what we’ll do first, then,” Karam said. “We’ll send their spirits off well, so that they may join the Indescribable God. After that, we’ll figure out the rest.”

  Arjun nodded. “Okay,” he said, and that was all he said.

  Even as they gathered what little supplies they had left, rolling up their blankets into their bags and hooking knives to their belts and swords to their shoulder straps, Arjun stayed quiet.

  It was only just before they left that he gathered the small barrel of rainwater and turned to her. “Swear that we’ll avenge them,” he said.

  “I swear it,” she promised him.

  And then Karam watched as Arjun threw water over the fire and the light turned to ash.

  * * *

  IN WRENYAL, when a person died, their body was turned to flame and thrown into sacred water, so that their spirit could be free to escape this world and travel on to the next to join the Indescribable God.

  The Onnela Sea wasn’t divine water, but it was water nonetheless and it was the thing that circled this realm before joining on to the mighty ocean that led to Wrenyi. If Karam thought about it that way, then it seemed better, as though the ashes of their friends might just find their way back home to their own realm.

  They had gathered the bodies of their fallen soldiers and placed them into a circle, where Karam and Arjun now stood in the center. Karam tried not to look at their faces, but she couldn’t help it. Asees looked calm, not like she was sleeping, but like she was taking in the beauty of the shores and the smell of the ocean salt.

  “Let us pray,” Arjun said.

  The spell took a few minutes. Arjun couldn’t conjure flame from nowhere like Saxony could and so he had to call upon the spirits to grant him the element.

  Karam held his hand until the spell took hold, and together they watched the Shores of the Dead burn.

  The bodies of Arjun’s Kin were alight in beautiful yellow flame, so close to the gold of their staves. As the fire grew, so did the wind, and Karam could see Arjun focus his powers to mold the breeze. It swirled around the flames until finally the fire diminished and ash circled in the air.

  Arjun kept a tight hold on Karam’s hand.

  “Go in peace,” he said. “Be with the spirits and with our god, and look down on us in love, knowing we are warm and we are safe.”

  “Go in peace,” Karam echoed.

  The ashes of the Kin danced together and swept toward the water. They hovered for a moment and Karam knew that Arjun was hesitating.

  She squeezed his hand.

  “Let them rest,” she said.

  Arjun took in a breath and the ashes slowly fell into the sea.

  Karam looked into the distance, hoping there would be answers somewhere on the shores. She wanted to think of something perfect to say to him or something perfect to do to take his mind off of everything. She wanted—

  Karam paused.

  She didn’t see answers, but she could see something on the part of the shore where the forest that had hid them met the sea.

  “Are those boats?” she asked.

  Arjun turned to follow her stare. “Are what boats? Those floating dots?”

  “They’re boats,” Karam said, firmer this time.

  She could see the outline of their frames and the way they bobbed on the small carcass of wood they were tied to.

  “You’ve got eyes like an eagle,” Arjun said.

  Karam didn’t answer, she just ran. She ran over the wet sand so fast that her thighs began to ache and the sound of Arjun calling her name
as he chased after her faded, as the wind blew so strongly in her ears.

  She ran for miles.

  For what felt like an hour.

  And then she reached them and she saw that she was right.

  There were four rowboats pitched to a small pier that was barely the length of an old oak tree. The wood looked a little rotten, but she couldn’t see any holes in the frames and the oars were still intact.

  “Are you training for some kind of athletic competition?” Arjun asked.

  He was breathless and when Karam turned to face him, Arjun’s hands were pressed against his knees as he bent over to gulp in the air.

  “This is how we get back,” Karam said. “This is how we cross to Rishiya without the railways.”

  “They’re boats,” Arjun said, as if Karam hadn’t noticed. “You want to cross to another city in those?”

  She nodded.

  “Karam, we don’t know how to row.”

  “We don’t need to.”

  “They’re rowboats,” Arjun said. “And I don’t even think these old things could handle the task.”

  He stepped toward them and knocked one lightly with his foot.

  “It would be two days’ journey at least.”

  “You’re a Spiritcrafter,” Karam said to him. “With the help of your magic, you can harness the wind to propel us onward. We could do it in half the time and with half the effort.”

  Arjun’s frown softened as he thought this over. Spiritcrafters could channel the weather, and if Arjun could help them move a train through the perilous waters of Ejm Voten, where nobody dared cross, and toward Dante Ashwood’s hidden isle, then he could push a rowboat over to the next city.

  He looked to Karam, and for the first time in days, Arjun smiled.

  “We’re not stuck here,” Karam said to him. “We’re going back.”

  18

  WESLEY

  Wesley stood in the center of the tree house and peered down at the forest below, alight in green and the dim yellow glow of the lanterns. He could hear the trees singing, like a lullaby in the night.

  “Enjoying the view?” Tavia asked. “You said you wanted updates, but if you just feel like sightseeing, let us know.”

  Wesley gave her a sullen look. “Take it away,” he said, and gestured to the magical fire in the center of the room, where Saxony was currently warming her hands. “What have the new busker boss and Crafter Liege been up to while I was away?”

  “I’ve stolen enough magic from the Rishiyat buskers to fuel our people,” Tavia said. “And now that we have Casim’s buskers with us, all that’s left is to wait for him to convince the other underbosses to help. Though now that you’re back, you could probably do a better job at rallying them.”

  “And you?” Wesley asked, looking to Saxony.

  She stood and sighed, to let him know that she didn’t like the thought of reporting to him.

  “Tavia already told you that I summoned Crafter Lieges from across the realms,” Saxony said. “Most have already made their way here.”

  “And when the others come, are they all going to be happy about you being Head Liege of all Lieges?” Wesley asked. “We need a united magical army for this to work.”

  Saxony cleared her throat. “I’m not a Liege,” she said, and the way she looked down at the floor told Wesley that it wasn’t a choice she’d made for herself. “My amja is taking over Zekia’s duties for now.”

  “Bullshit.”

  Saxony’s head shot up. “Excuse me?”

  “You have the experience,” Wesley said. “You fought against Ashwood and you took the initiative to summon the other Crafters. Why are you taking orders from anyone else?”

  “Because that’s the way it is.”

  “Until you say otherwise.”

  Saxony scoffed, like Wesley couldn’t possibly understand their ways. And she was right. Wesley didn’t get how someone like Saxony, who had fire burning in her veins and the scars of war on her fingertips, could step down and let someone else make her decisions for her.

  “So what parts of Uskhanya have you set up bases in to protect?” Wesley asked. “What did the Doyen say about all of this when you spoke to her about an alliance?”

  The almost chastised looks on their faces made Wesley want to go straight back into Zekia’s hold. At least she and Ashwood had a plan.

  “You did speak to the Doyen, didn’t you?” he asked, already knowing he wouldn’t like the answer.

  “We can’t just send a bat to a world leader,” Tavia said. “And we’ve been busy. We’ve been—”

  “Sitting around sniping at each other?” Wesley asked.

  Tavia gave him a familiar I’m going to punch you kind of a look. “What was your contribution to the war effort these last few weeks?”

  “I didn’t die,” Wesley said. “And since you so clearly need me around, I’d say that I did you a favor by staying alive.”

  Tavia didn’t argue with that, which made a change.

  “We need to speak to Doyen Fenna Schulze and align with her forces,” Wesley said. “While you were building an army, did none of you think about the army that was already out there? The entire military force of Uskhanya could be on our side right now.”

  “Yeah,” Saxony said, rolling her eyes. “Because what the officials want in the fight against magic is a bunch of Crafters and crooks.”

  “Except that I already negotiated that deal.”

  It seemed like a lifetime ago when Wesley was back in the amity precinct with Tavia, negotiating Saxony’s release with the Vice Doyen. Agreeing to kill the Kingpin in exchange for becoming the Kingpin. It didn’t seem possible that only a few months had passed, rather than years.

  Wesley pictured himself then, feet kicked up on the table and his suit not pressed with blood, feeling like nothing in the world could hurt him.

  “Vice Doyen Armin Krause gave us permission to go after the Kingpin and said that we’d have Schulze’s backing,” Wesley reminded them. “Since the Kingpin isn’t dead, as far as I’m concerned that deal still stands. It’s about time we collected.”

  “You really think she’ll join forces with us?” Tavia asked.

  “I don’t think she has a choice.”

  None of them did now.

  It was kill or be killed, just like the streets had been when Wesley was coming up. Though now those shadowed streets had spread their arms and the entire realm was at risk of having to look over their shoulder every second, or fear that doing or saying one wrong thing could cost them their lives. That doing or saying nothing could cost them worse.

  Wesley had done a lot of bad in his life, but he didn’t want to be part of a legacy of suffering. He didn’t want his name remembered beside Dante Ashwood’s.

  If nothing else, Wesley wanted to make sure his city survived.

  Wesley whistled the old tune that every person—Crafter, busker, or the ordinary—was taught as a child. The melody to call a delg bat from their haunt. There were at least a dozen in the Uncharted Forest—Wesley had seen them hanging from the trees by the curved river—and so it took only a minute before one flew in from the window and landed straight in his palm.

  Wesley stroked the blackened creature and it cooed in his hands, flapping its night wings and nibbling at his finger.

  “Find Fenna Schulze,” Wesley told the bat. “And tell her that the underboss of Creije wants a meeting. I have an army of magic that I’m willing to align with her forces. If we join together, we can finally end Ashwood’s reign and stop the Loj elixir from spreading.”

  The bat chirped in response and leaped from Wesley’s hand. It was fast and it only took a matter of seconds for him to lose sight of it altogether. Wesley wasn’t sure where the bat was heading; he didn’t know exactly where Schulze was, but the creature would find her. Delg bats were magical things, feeding off of psychic energy. They could find anyone, anywhere, even at the edges of the realms. Some people said that if the bat was ancient enough and lo
yal enough to its master, it could even cross into the afterlife to ferry messages to the dead.

  So somewhere like the Halls of Government in Yejlath shouldn’t be a problem.

  “The Doyen should get the bat within a day,” Wesley said. “And after that we—Damn it!”

  Wesley yelled out in pain.

  A sudden sharpness pierced through his mind like a hundred needles, stabbing and stabbing.

  He grabbed at his temples, teeth grinding together.

  “Skeht!” he cursed.

  “Wesley!” Tavia said, running over to him.

  But then Saxony started screaming too.

  There was a darkness in Wesley’s mind, clouding his vision until the real world blurred and he could only focus on the images in his head. The shadows squirmed through his mind like worms looking to take root.

  It felt like it had when Zekia tried to claw through his mind, only this time Wesley didn’t sense the hesitation he’d felt from her, or the conflict as she watched him cry out.

  All he felt now was darkness.

  Then from that darkness, a cloud of fog descended.

  Saxony gasped out and the fire in the room died like a gust of wind had blown violently through it.

  Dante Ashwood’s face appeared inside of Wesley’s mind.

  “Hello, my children,” he said.

  Wesley winced at the sound of his voice, like nails scraping into him.

  “Many Gods,” Saxony cried out, her voice strained. “He’s inside my head.”

  She was clutching at her skull, squeezing her eyes shut tightly as if to try and push Ashwood out. But it was no use.

  “Today, I come to you not just as a leader, but as a beacon.”

  “Make it stop!” Saxony yelled.

  She fell to her knees and something inside of Wesley lurched. He wanted to walk over to her, but the pain rooted him to the spot. He felt like if he tried to move, he might collapse as well.

  “What is it?” Tavia asked. “What’s going on?”

  She couldn’t hear him.

  Wesley’s head pounded as he tried to keep the Kingpin’s voice at bay, but all that practice defending his mind meant nothing now.

  In the forest below, he could hear the screams of their camp.