Lark Ascending (33 page)

Caesar helped steady Dorian as he stumbled forward, and I stood on my toes to pull the hood off. I braced myself for blood and bruises, the signs of a fight, but his condition was far better than I expected. His eyes were clouded, though, and he stared around wildly, unseeing. When I laid my hand against his cheek to summon his gaze back to us, I could feel the currents of magic inside him, wavering and sluggish. He'd spent himself fighting them, to buy us more time.

“Dorian,” I hissed, trying to get him to focus on my face. “We need you.”

“Lark,” he groaned, squeezing his eyes shut. “What's happening? I can't feel anything.”

“They've got you in iron bonds,” I replied, dropping to my knees to inspect the manacles around his wrists. They were fused solid, and with Eve's magic flying in every direction, I couldn't hope to gather enough focus to break through it with my own power. “I don't think I can free you.”

“Then I'm useless to you,” he protested, leaning heavily against the rail. “Just leave me here.”

“Like hell,” I snapped. “Dorian, Eve has lost her mind. She won't listen to Caesar, and she won't listen to me.”

Dorian's eyes rolled over to Caesar's face and widened a little. “You're the other brother,” he breathed. “The one who took Eve.”

Caesar's one good eye narrowed. “Yes.”

Dorian pulled himself a little more upright. “If that,” and he jerked his chin upward to indicate the blinding energy encasing Eve above us, “isn't Eve anymore, what do you think I could possibly do?”

“I think she saved my life,” I said, trying to catch my breath. “When I jumped for this catwalk I wasn't going to make it. The glass saved me, and she's controlling the glass.”

Dorian and Caesar both stared at me with expressions so similar it would've been funny, if they hadn't both been so grief-stricken. “I don't understand,” said Caesar, brows furrowed.

“Some piece of Eve is still in there. And if there's a part of her that doesn't want me to die, there has to be a part of her that doesn't want anyone to die.” I nodded at Dorian. “She loved you, before all of this. I've had her memories in my head; I've felt it.”

“I thought she died long ago. I made my peace with that, with the guilt.” Dorian swallowed hard, the lines around his eyes deepening as he tried to pull himself together. “The Eve I knew would never do this.”

“That's why I think you can stop her. She claims not to remember you, but I've seen her memories. I know you're still inside her. I can protect you long enough to get close to her.”

“And if I can't stop her?”

“All I need is a second. If you can distract her, I might be able to interrupt her trance.”

Dorian hesitated, watching me. I could see Eve's light reflected in his eyes, flashing and exploding like stars. Then he nodded.

I turned back toward Eve. She was one level above us, on the central platform that housed the very heart of the Machine. Ladders led up to it in several places, forcing Dorian to climb precariously with his hands bound in front of him. More than once Caesar, climbing behind him, had to stabilize him on the ladder. My brother's face was like iron, lips pressed into a line. I knew how much it killed him that he couldn't reach Eve.

I reached the top of the ladder and dragged myself over the edge, staggering in the sudden onslaught of light. Nix, its legs twined in my hair to hold on, gave a tiny metallic shriek of protest as a shockwave from a tiny explosion of magic knocked me backward.

I gathered my wits and my strength, throwing up as sturdy a shield as I could with my own magic. My best efforts were no match even for Eve's offhand blasts; if the architects thought I was powerful in the Iron Wood, Eve made me look like a child. Still, I only had to hold out long enough to get Dorian inside Eve's cocoon of magic.

Dorian stumbled, hobbled and blinded by the iron bindings, forcing Caesar to keep him upright. I couldn't afford to glance over at them, but out of my peripheral vision I saw another man catch up to them and sling an arm under Dorian's other shoulder.

Basil. He and Oren had caught up to me, probably via a less insane route than the one I'd taken. Basil was wearing his modified Prometheus glove, and as a glass tendril came whistling out of the chasm at us, he planted his hand firmly against Dorian's chest. I felt him wrench a torrent of magic free, enough to lash out at the tendril and shatter it. Glittering shards fell in a cascade down, down into the darkness.

Dorian might not be able to use his own power, too crippled by the iron manacles, but there was nothing stopping Basil from using it.

Caesar faltered, his eyes falling on his little brother for the first time since he'd crossed the Wall, all those years ago. Basil looked back, his expression grim—there was no time for reunions, no time to compare betrayals or levy grief. Basil nodded at him, and Caesar nodded back.

We pressed on, sweat beginning to bead on my forehead and roll down my temples and the back of my neck. Eve's magic was like a physical force pressing back at us, so that we had to brace ourselves and walk as if into gale-force headwinds. Though most of it parted around my shield and flew past us in streamers of white-gold light, occasionally a thread sliced through it. I only noticed my face was gashed when Nix stretched up to press its feet against the wound, holding it closed and trying to stop the bleeding.

I tried to take another step and found myself sliding backward. I felt Oren's arm wrap around my waist, lending his strength to mine. We made it a few more paces before even his strength gave out, and we lurched to the side to grab onto the railing.

“This is as far as I can get us,” I screamed over my shoulder, as Basil braced one leg against the railing and Caesar set his shoulder against Dorian's to prop the faltering Renewable up.

On the far approach to the platform my streaming eyes made out a familiar form wearing a coat much more faded and torn than the ones the other red-clad architects wore. Kris was trying to warn the Institute's forces away. I couldn't be sure if they were listening to him, but if his attempt stopped even a few of them from renewing the attack on Eve, it might help us reach her.

“Dorian,” I shouted, my voice breaking with exhaustion and desperation. “Talk to her.”

For a long moment the Renewable said nothing, his face illuminated in flashes and sweeps of light, his eyes wide and staring. “Eve,” he said, his weary voice barely carrying as far as my own ears. Caesar gave him a rough shake and bent close to whisper something harshly in his ear. I couldn't hear the words, but Dorian lifted his head and nodded.

“Eve!” he called, more loudly this time. “Can you hear me? It's me. It's Dorian. Do you remember me?”

There was no change, no sign that Eve could hear any of us inside the sphere of magic encasing her.

Dorian leaned to the side, grabbing onto the railing with his bound hands. “I never meant for you to do this. Any of this. I had so many plans for us when you got back from this mission.” His head dropped, voice roughening. “I never should have sent you. I was arrogant and young and too obsessed with knowing the truth about the cataclysm.”

Pain seared along my eyes and my spine, the effort calling my shadow up until it screamed at me to give up my foolish attempt to spare Eve and just let her magic take me. It'd be so easy to let it use her power against her, to let it take over; but I couldn't. Eve's magic and her madness were one and the same, too hot and too raw to control. If I let Eve's magic in, it would sear my soul.

My shield faltered, and a lash of magic slid through and slammed into Oren's shoulder. He grunted but didn't let go of the railing; his arm tightened around my waist as I groaned, trying to shore up my defense. I had only a split second to spare to glance at Oren to see that he was all right. The shadow had returned in him, as well; his eyes were white, reflecting Eve's glow like mirrors, and the darkness flickered through the veins of his face. His grip tightened on the railing. He was using the shadow for strength; for the first time, it wasn't using him.

“After you left,” Dorian went on, his head still down, as though looking at the singularity of magic was too painful, “I made our home safe. We had a life there; we were all safe. I wanted to come for you, to see if you were still alive. But if I left, who would watch over the Iron Wood? I thought you were gone. I thought I'd never see you again. Never hear your voice again.”

Was that a flicker in Eve's cocoon? I wiped my eyes against my sleeve and squinted. There it came again, and the tendrils whipping around us slowed. Dorian didn't seem to notice, his every effort fixed on clinging to the railing.

“I'm so sorry, Eve. Please forgive me. Please. Remember me, and come home.”

The air went out of the room in an instant, the void bringing with it a silence that made my skull ache. The glass wires fell limp, and for an instant the magic wrapped around Eve froze, a delicate tracery of shimmering light in branching, fractal patterns, no two alike.

Then the shell exploded.

Magic flew outward, a shockwave that vaporized the glass wires and sent us flying. I hit the railing and rolled down the walkway, stunned and aching. I tried to lift myself up on my arms, only to find that they were numb and I could barely raise my head. Oren had been half knocked from the platform, but he had a grip on the railing. Caesar was dragging Basil back over the rail, where he'd nearly flown off; Dorian was on his hands and knees, head down. I couldn't see Kris or the other architects.

Instead all I saw was a light moving toward us; slow, light steps that nevertheless made the metal beneath us quiver and shift like waves on the sea.

“I know you,” she whispered, her gaze passing through him.

Dorian nodded, lifting his head. Tearstains cut long swaths down the ragged expanse of his face. His lips twisted as he tried to speak and failed.

Eve stopped a few paces away from him. “You beg for my forgiveness. You ask for yourself, to feed your guilt. Your demands are selfish.”

“Eve,” gasped Dorian, sinking back onto his heels as he looked up at her. “Let me take you home.”

“That place is not my home.” Her white eyes burned, making my own water. “My home is an aspen grove by the sea.”

“Then we can go there,” Dorian said, his voice rising in desperation. “Just you and I.”

“I'm not yours anymore,” Eve said quietly. Her eyes went from Dorian to Caesar, who was leaning against the railing, his bad leg bent with pain. He lifted his head but said nothing, just watching the woman standing before them.

“Eve.” I pulled myself upright with an effort, ignoring the way my arms quivered. “We have a chance to finish this.”

Her gaze flicked toward me, and I resisted the urge to flinch away. Gone was the gentle, subtle creeping attraction that she'd used so well among the resistance; in its place was fire. “If you want this finished, then allow me to continue. These are your enemies too.”

She gestured at the far edge of the platform, where I could see a few of the architects there starting to pick themselves up. My heart leaped when I saw Kris among them, his gaze meeting mine.

“This is the Machine,” I said, ignoring her offer to destroy my enemies. There was no point in arguing that they weren't; not even I believed that anymore. “The device, the one they used to shatter the world.”

“To try to kill us,” she hissed, moving back toward the central mechanisms and the architects beyond.

“No. It was designed to drain the Renewables of their magic, not kill them. Eve, we can use it to finish what they started.”

She paused, glancing back at me, her eyes shadowed.

I pressed on. “Between your power and mine, we can do it.” I took a deep breath, taking a few cautious steps after her. “I think if it works, you'll be cured. And so will I.”

Eve turned back to the center of the platform, turning to circle it, gazing down at the mechanisms. It was the first time I'd seen this, the heart of the Machine, the heart of the Institute. I'd expected piles of circuitry and intricate gears; instead it was simply a glass dome, inset into an iron pedestal, like a tiny replica of the Wall. Now that Eve's magic had subsided, I could trace the currents down through the dome, through the glass wires that traveled down and away, into every part of the Institute, and beyond.

“This Machine's veins go deep,” whispered Eve, her thoughts flowing alongside mine. “Down into the earth, into the core of this world.”

“Like roots,” I replied, traveling the pathways with her. This was how the founding architects had sought to change the very nature of magic; they'd tapped into the life force of the planet itself.

Eve's thoughts pulled out abruptly. “Like a parasite.”

“Listen to me.” I turned toward her, bracing myself for the madness in her eyes, the fear and hatred and despair that threatened to pull me through the thin veil between our minds and down into the dark with her. “You asked me once what my alternative was. That until I had a solution, yours was the best one. This
is
that solution, Eve. No one has to die.”

“And the magic, where does it go? Here? With them?” Eve glanced at the half dome in the floor, lips curling.

“With all of us,” I replied firmly. “We'll use it to care for this city, and for Lethe, where the other Renewables are.”

“This Machine,” she whispered, her eyes still on the dome. “I wonder what would happen if we were to use it against them?”

My pulse quickened. “No, Eve,” I said sharply. “It'd kill these people, if you tried to harvest them instead of the Renewables. It's impossible, anyway.”

Eve glanced up, her eyes meeting mine. “They are children, playing with things they'll never understand. Not the way we do, you and I. They say to magic iron is impossible.”