The Fifth City (18 page)

Twenty Seven

Neve stumbled again as she blindly felt her way up the stairs.  The red-headed girl, Ember, had roughly tied their hands, and then blindfolded them as they stood in the pouring rain outside the city.

Instead of walking through the gate, the girl had led them down a long set of stairs and into a dank and dark tunnel.  Even with the hastily cut strip of cloth over her eyes, she could tell that it was incredibly dark, wherever they were.

She could also tell that the wolf was in front of her; she could hear it panting, and the nails on its paws clicking against the stone as it walked.  Falcon’s shuffling footsteps were behind her, and Neve could tell Ember watched them all from behind, by the minuscule amount of light that seeped through her blindfold, coming from the back.

The tunnel had surprised Neve, since she figured Ember would simply lead them through the gate.  As she climbed the stairs—hopefully rising into Meadowcity—she wondered what Ember had been doing outside the city.  Both Sylvia and Falcon had told her Meadowcity had been closed up since Summer’s End.

She already knew all about Ember from the stories Sylvia had told her on the trail, but she had kept her mouth shut.  Now was not the time to unnerve the girl, not when Neve was getting what she wanted—a way inside the city.  And Ember seemed on edge as it was.

Neve had promised to get to Meadowcity with Sylvia’s message as quickly as she could, but even with Falcon’s trail skills, they had gotten bogged down for days in muddy and waterlogged fields and woods.

Falcon had insisted they circle to the east, rather than straight north from Seascape.  He had wanted to circumvent any possible run-ins with the Scouts.  But the spring rains had bloated the land, miring them in boggy fields and muddy woods for weeks.  Neve was selfishly looking forward to a warm bath, and getting into some dry clothes and shoes.  But first she had a message to deliver.

“Stop,” Ember finally called.

Neve wobbled on her step as Ember squeezed past her.  She still couldn’t see anything through her blindfold, but then she heard a door open.

“Up,” Ember instructed, and Neve nearly groaned.  More stairs?  She kicked her foot out to find the bottom step of yet another staircase, but this one turned out to be much shorter than the first.

Neve hesitated when she reached the top, when her foot found no more stairs to climb.  Ember brushed past her again, and took hold of her arm.

Dim light began to seep through Neve’s blindfold, and she could see her own feet through the bottom now, walking along old stone pavers.

Ember led them through what was clearly a large building; Neve could only hope that it was the Citizen’s Hall.  There were plenty of turns and twists as Ember led them through the Hall, and another set of stairs.  Eventually they reached wood-paneled floors that shone up at Neve through the bottom of her blindfold.

The building smelled strongly of wood, with a hint of hearthfire.  The very hallways of the building seemed to exude warmth, which snapped the chill that had settled into Neve’s bones from weeks in the wet countryside.

Finally their captor stopped, and Neve peered through the bottom of her blindfold hopefully.

A door opened.  “Wait in here,” Ember commanded, and with a hand on her bicep, Neve was led inside, bumping alongside Falcon.

A second later, the door closed with a slam, and she heard a lock click.  They were shut in darkness once more.

“Where are we?” Falcon hissed.

Neve awkwardly raised her arms, and blindly felt around with her hands, still tied at the wrist.  She could hear Falcon doing the same.

“A closet?” she guessed.

“Where’s she gone then, do you think?”

“How should I know?” Neve retorted into the darkness.

“Neve—can you just be civil with me for once?”

She could feel the hurt in his voice.  They used to be so close.

She didn’t answer.  It had been hard enough trekking through the wilds with him; her feelings of betrayal had become tainted by pity for his wounded condition.  But she didn’t want to forgive him.  She
couldn’t
.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered.

Her stomach writhed in guilt and she shut her eyes, though the blackness was the same as the dark closet.

There were so many things she wanted to tell him, but she couldn’t
say
any of them.

You betrayed me
, was on the tip of her tongue, but it wouldn’t come out.  She couldn’t make herself sound that vulnerable—not to him, not anymore.  Not after what he did.

Deliverance came in the form of the door swinging open.  Through her blindfold she could only see a film of light in the shape of a doorway.

“You tied them up?” came a man’s surprised voice.

“I didn’t want them taking their blindfolds off.”

“Yes, you’re right,” the man grunted.

“This one’s the Scout,” Ember said, no doubt pointing at Falcon.

Without warning, Neve was pulled from the closet and suddenly her blindfold was lifted.

Blinking from the sudden reappearance of light, Neve was strongly reminded of her short time in Seascape, when she was pulled from the dark chamber by one of Blackwater’s thugs.

Ember stood before her, blindfold in hand, with two men beside her.  A sword hung from one man’s hip, and his thick-fingered hand rested on the hilt in warning as he eyed the two captives.

The other man was shorter, with lines etched around his eyes and grey hair at his temples.  This man spoke.  “I’m Governor Gero.  You say you know where Sylvia is?”

*   *   *

Governor Gero led them into a small room that held a long wooden table surrounded by chairs.  Ember followed them in and claimed a seat across the table from Neve.  Falcon awkwardly lowered himself into one of the chairs.  They hadn’t untied him.  The man with the sword positioned himself behind Gero, right in front of the door.

Neve felt like she was inside a tree or something—every surface in the room was wood.  The table gleamed marvelously in the lamplight, an impressive piece of woodwork, all in one piece.  The chairs were carved with floral designs on the armrests and back; and the walls and ceiling were carved with a few simple lines.

“Alright, let’s hear it,” Gero said, forcing Neve to bring her eyes to the Governor and stop surveying the room.  She took in the dark skin under his eyes, the hollow cheeks, and the grimace he wore, all of which made the man look exhausted, and much older than he probably was.  With a guilty twinge of her stomach, she realized the Governor reminded her of her uncle Harry—who was probably sick with worry over her disappearance.

She started by telling Gero what she had overheard the Scouts say in the Broken Bellows that night, when she first learned of the war and their attack on Meadowcity, and their plans to travel to the fifth city.  She quickly described her run-in with Sylvia and their departure the next day, then took a deep breath before starting on what happened in the fifth city.

Neve could tell by the look on Ember’s face that the girl had wanted to interrupt several times, perhaps to question Neve, but the look on Gero’s face must have deterred her.  Neve soldiered on.

With aching clarity, she recounted her and Sylvia’s painful experience getting into Seascape.  She could picture the stone shore, the Scouts a little ways off, all frozen in pain as the electric shock ripped through their nerves until they lost consciousness.

At that point, Neve glanced up from the spot in the table she had been talking at and saw the Meadowcitizens with their mouths open, eyes wide at Seascape’s defense.  Even the man with the sword stood rapt with attention.

Then she spoke of the formidable Lady Blackwater, and her deal with Sylvia.  The Trials that Sylvia would partake in, and the help the Lady would give if she passed.

When she finally stopped talking, the wooden room was silent.  It was certainly not what anyone had been expecting.  Neve wouldn’t have believed it herself had she not witnessed it firsthand.

Finally Gero cleared his throat and spoke up.  “The Lady wouldn’t say what kind of help she would give?”

Neve shook her head.  “Sylvia thought anything they could offer would be
worth it.”

The Governor nodded idly.

Ember saw her chance for questions, and jumped in.  “And the trials were a month long?”

Neve nodded.  “Four in all—one per week I think.  No training was allowed, no help from anyone.”

“How long ago did you leave the island?” asked Gero.

Neve glanced at Falcon.  “About two weeks?  I’m not sure,” she shook her head.  “We got mired in the fields east of here, hoping to avoid Scouts.”

“So what’s your story?” Ember asked Falcon belligerently.

Falcon had sunken into his chair, perhaps hoping no one would notice him after Neve’s weighty news.  His eyes darted to Gero, then the man at the door.  He took a deep breath, but Neve spoke up first.

“Falcon’s a Scout,” she proclaimed needlessly.  “He was with the group that went south.”

He stared wide-eyed at Neve, clearly thinking she was selling him out somehow.

“He questioned their methods,” she continued, “so they killed his lion, then beat him almost to death.  I found him when they made me leave Seascape.”

“I wouldn’t have made it to Meadowcity without him,” she concluded.  She was guessing the Meadowcitizens wouldn’t believe anything out of Falcon’s mouth; to them, all Scouts were the enemy.  But it was the truth.

“That true?” Ember asked him.

He nodded, catching on to Neve’s tactic and keeping his mouth shut.

Gero clapped his hands on his thighs.  “Well.  At least we know where Sylvia is.”

Ember nodded, but looked sideways at the Governor.

“But we already sent a contingent of Defenders up to Lightcity,” Gero said.  “We can’t spare anyone else to escort you back—you’ll have to stay here, at least until they come back.  And who knows that else will have changed by the time they do.”

Twenty Eight

The wind from the dark southern shore whipped at Sylvia’s back as she clung to the cliff face, her fingers white from the strain already.

She yelped as another spray of seawater exploded off the rocks below.

Quickly she reached up for the handhold she had spied, and raised her body just a little farther to try and get higher above the violent waves.

The other initiates were spread out beside her, clinging to the rock as she did, huddled against the raging wind that buffeted the cliff.  They had each been given a black, datawoven jacket before disembarking from the ship that brought them here, and Sylvia was grateful for its warmth.

The goal of this Trial was very clear: get to the top.

Sylvia had already seen some flashes of bright light out of the corners of her eyes—some of the others had clearly decided to connect to their datastrands.  But Sylvia was struggling just to stay on the cliff, she didn’t think it would be a good idea to empty her mind right now.

She found a better grip for her left hand, and pulled herself up a little farther.  Her eyes searched the moon-bright cliff face for the next crevice.

As she was situating her foot sideways on a narrow outcrop, she heard a masculine voice on the wind. 
“A map,”
drifted to her ears, one of which held her inactive earlink.

A map?

And then it dawned on her—
why else would they have given her datawoven fabric? 
It felt like a stone dropped into her stomach as she realized it.

She groaned, but the sound was lost to the wind.  She had
known
this task would make her use the earlink.  She had practiced for hours on end with Atlan.  She just hadn’t thought to practice as she hung by her fingertips, hovering over her death. 
But what else could be a better motivator?

Her left foot sat snugly wedged between stone, and her right was stable enough now, sideways on a thin ledge.  She adjusted her dusty fingers, and reached out to grab better hold of the crack with her right hand.

With her body stretched across the cold cliff, the salty wind taunted her, testing her holds, but she closed her eyes, determined to connect to her earlink.

It was already black inside her eyelids, a feat not hard to imagine in the night.  Her fingers and toes held her weight on the cold cliff as she shut her mind to distractions.

She pictured the familiar mental light of her earlink glowing brightly from her right ear.  It easily met with the datastrands at her shoulder.  The silver light grew and spread down her arm and back.  Slowly the crisscrossing threads came alive with light.

A strong gust of wind barreled down the cliff, threatening her hold, so she tried to strengthen her grip without loosing focus.  With her eyes still closed, she went back to forging the connection.

The strands in the fabric were almost entirely lit up in her mind’s eye, and she pictured the light surging, completing the connection with her earlink.

She felt a sudden
snap
inside her mind, and she knew it was made.

Hesitantly, she opened her eyes, focusing on the feeling of connection to keep it alive.  She allowed some of her focus to drift to her hands, and assessed their position.

Her fingers dug into the rock to get a better grip, and Sylvia
remembered the voice she had heard on the wind—
a map
.

But how to find it?

Perhaps she should reach out to Atlan.  She knew she could do it, she had done it so many times in her warm room, sitting comfortably at the table.  It had been the oddest thing in the world, speaking mind to mind with Atlan—
linking
, he called it.  She could do it now.  Anything to get her up this cliff faster.

She took a deep breath and the cold salty air settled into her lungs.  The datawoven threads buzzed in her mind as she reached out, picturing a thread of her light seeking Atlan; more the thought of him than his actual presence, since she had no idea where he was on the cliff.

She imagined the thread looping and riding the wind as it searched for the sharp mind behind those grey eyes, his sly grin, the jolt she felt when his hands grazed her skin, even accidentally.

With a pulse of electricity, she felt the link snap into place.

Atlan?

I’m here.
   She could nearly
feel
him grinning at her.

Did you hear something about a map?
  she thought at him, as her somewhat long fingernails started to shove themselves painfully into the bones of her fingers.  She belatedly wished she had cut them.

Colin said Emrick found the data in his strands, I’m still trying to get at mine,
he told her.

What do you look for?
  Sylvia wondered across the link.  Her fingers were starting to cramp up. 
She needed to move.

Your mind has its own way,
he linked to her.
You need to figure out your visual to make the connection work through the earlink.

Despite the growing cramps in her hands, Sylvia smiled.  He always knew how to explain things for her.

I’ll let you know if I find it,
he told her.

Good luck
, she linked, then let the connection drop.  They both needed to concentrate.

First, she lifted almost all of her body weight up onto her left foot; she steadied herself by clinging to the insides of the vertical crevice with her hands.  She flexed her fingers and hands one at a time, giving each of them a break for a moment before she tried to search for the data.
  She grimaced at her hands, some of her nails were torn and bleeding from the pressure of holding herself up.

With both hands firmly back in place, she snapped her eyes shut and imagined the datawoven fabric glowing faintly, still actively connected to the earlink, which was a beacon glowing brightly from her ear.

Her mind’s eye scanned over the glowing fabric, with its black and bright contrasting threads.  She tried to look for threads that were different than the rest.

What had Atlan said?  You need to figure out the visual to make the connection work.

She pictured scanning the different threads, but it felt useless.  She couldn’t just
imagine
one being different—she had to train her mind to find the data that was actually there.  But she didn’t know what data
looked like
.  She groaned to herself.

Her foot wedged itself deeper into the crevice, crushing her toes, but she kept her eyes closed.

What would data look like? 
she wondered.

She was searching for a map.  One that would show her the climbing routes up the cliff, she hoped.  She had only ever seen a map in books when she was in lessons, or the ones her father had drawn of Arcera.  Those were the only kinds of data she had ever seen, or held.

So pretend it’s a book
, she told herself, ignoring the squeezing pain in her left foot.  She could worry about that later.

Eyes shut, she brought her mind back to the datastrands that glowed in her mind. 
Turn the page
, she thought, and she pictured a layer of light peeling up like paper, revealing the next bit of information underneath, the next layer of the intangible data.

And there it was.

Suddenly she had a clear black and white image of the cliff inside her mind, as if it were a memory of something she had seen, and remembered perfectly.  Glowing in white were the routes—some led to the top, most not.  The one she was on went nowhere quickly.  She groaned.  She would have to go back down.

Briefly suspending her bewilderment at the map—and how it could possibly be inside her head like some perfect memory—she wondered if she should link with Atlan again and tell him she found it.  But she didn’t want to throw off his concentration, so she tugged her foot upwards out of the crevice, and balanced herself with her fingers.  She shifted more weight onto her other foot while she let the blood flow back into the crushed one.  She wiggled her toes and looked down for a place to lower herself.

As soon as she thought about the map, it bubbled back up as if out of her memory.  She kept thinking about it, holding it in her mind, as she carefully wove her way back down the cliff to meet up with a path that would let her rise.

She crammed her fingers into small crevices, balanced her toes on anything that stuck out enough, and decided that going down was far worse than going up—she had to constantly look down at the drop, and the churning sea below.

The glowing trails on the map led her down, and her heart sank as she did.  She was losing all the upward progress she had made.

She knew Lady Naomi had said this Trial was about connectivity, but she was sure they would take into account the time it took to get to the top when judging the initiates.

At one point, she reached a fairly wide ledge that she could actually put both feet on and stand properly.  She took the opportunity to rest her arms, massage her palms and roll her shoulders out and back one at a time, away from the cliff.  She still had a lot of climbing to do.

A scrape of rock above startled her, and she looked up to see one of the other initiates hanging onto the cliff face only a few feet above, to the right.  The girl clung to the cliff, with her auburn hair flying in the wind.  She didn’t seem to be going anywhere though, only hanging.  Sylvia wondered if she was trying to link with her data.

Sylvia checked her map again, with its glowing routes as clear as her sharpest memory, and saw that she now stood at the base of a path that could get her up to the top.  But the girl was already on it, blocking her way.

She took the time to massage her fingers as she waited for the girl to move.  There wasn’t much else she could do—there was no way around the girl.  Sylvia stuck one of her bleeding nails in her mouth; it tasted like rock, but it would hopefully stop bleeding for a moment.  She spit the blood and dust into the sea and assessed the gruesome finger.  Immediately she stuck it back in her mouth.

Was the girl trying to access the data?  Or was she just frozen?

“Alice?” Sylvia shouted over the wind, thinking that might be the girl’s name.

“Y—Yeah?” came from above.

“Are you okay?” Sylvia asked, and laced her fingers behind her back, stretching her arms away from the cliff.

“I—I can’t climb—I—” she stuttered, her already demure voice trailing off into the wind.

“Did you find the map?”

“What map?” the girl asked, now somewhat panicked.

“In the data—can you connect to it?”

Sylvia could see the girl shake her head as she clung to the ledge.

“Alright, well I have it, and you’re already on the right path, so I’ll just tell you which way to go and I’ll follow you, okay?”

Sylvia hadn’t been told how they were being judged—on their time, or the order they reached the top, or anything else; but she didn’t care.  Nothing had been said about disqualification, and if she didn’t help Alice, she wouldn’t be able to get up to the top either.  She didn’t care if the girl made it first, she just wanted to get back on solid ground and pass this Trial.  She would work with what she had.

She consulted the map again and instructed Alice to go to the right, which would lead them upwards.  She watched the girl carefully grip the rock, edging sideways and then slowly rising when she found the next vertical holds.

A sudden flicker of a foreign presence was all the warning Sylvia had of an incoming link, and then Atlan’s voice flitted across her mind.

Did you find it, then?

Sylvia nodded, now focusing on pulling herself up with both hands, which grasped the one solitary handhold available to her.  Then she realized he probably couldn’t see her nod, so she replied across the link,
Yes!

She shifted to rest her weight onto her right foot, stable on a protruding ledge, while Alice tried to reach for the next hold.  The Seascape native, as pale as the stone in the bright moonlight, was almost too short to reach.  Sylvia craned her neck up to watch.  “You can reach!” she called aloud.  “Just a bit further!”