I wiped the sweat from my forehead with a strip of boilweed, kneading the damp fibres between my fingers.
Spout, I thought.
It was funny to consider this older, more wearied sweat. Growing up, I’d perspired when most other Jadans didn’t waste a drop. Fear, dread and a flaw in my body wrung me out like damp fabric. For that I should have been dead. I never sweat enough to tip me over the edge, but it was enough to draw attention of my superiors, and one thing I’ve learned about the sands is that vipers always go for whatever skin is exposed.
Nobles teased me about the sweat, and pushed me, and made me drink foul things like spoiled milk too see if it would leak out of my forehead. They drew unusable signs on my eyelids, the ink dripping down and stinging my vision for the rest of the day. The Nobles called me Spout because I leaked. Because I was defective. Broken.
In a way they were right.
I was broken.
And I used to think broken always meant bad. But I grew up and learned more about the nature of things. I learned that some terrible systems worked just as intended, but could only do harm. Like the wool hat of the Vicaress. Like the things I’d found in Ka’in’s tinkershop. Like the Khatdom itself.
And when an evil piece of tinkering worked well, its perfect gears and oiled parts churning hate and pain into the world, it demanded breaking. And the only way to destroy something like that was by the hands of someone who understood the cracks.
I’d been working for days now in the Sanctuary tinkershop, only stopping for a few meagre hours of sleep each night, subsisting on the figs and orangefruit that Cam brought. I ate, but had no taste for food. I could recognize the sweet juices of the orangefruit flesh, the tough pulp of the luscious figs, but it all dried to ash in my mouth.
There was only one thing that mattered.
Flight.
I wiped the sweat on my shirt and set my hammer back on the anvil. The Sanctuary tinkershop had every material and tool I wanted to work with, so my lack of answers was only due to my own incompetence.
Slumping into my chair, I took a swig from my water skin. I’d been pounding down a new fan blade for nearly an hour, hoping to discover a smelting that would produce a lighter metal. But even if I could, it wouldn’t make a difference. My glider was too heavy, and pushing wind downward wasn’t nearly enough to get the platform to rise off the ground; let alone to lift someone riding on top.
The clay urn of Charged Water – I preferred not to think of it as Wraithwater unless I had to – held the last of the abbs, which I’d dissolved inside days ago. The urn gave off considerable energy, enough where I had to wear double-thick gloves when even standing next to it; but the tinkering wasn’t close to enough.
I emptied the rest of my waterskin into my stomach. The Coldmaker stared at me from the corner of the tinkershop. The lid was open, taunting.
After all the weeks of being in the City of David’s Fall, we’d still had no luck finding a Frost. I had a team of Street Jadans searching the abandoned Manors inside and out. Shilah had assembled a team of Builders checking for secret panels in the empty Cry Temples. For the first time since the Great Drought, Jadans could wander wherever we’d like within David’s Fall, but the fleeing Nobles had made sure to empty the place of any Frosts – if there were even any here to begin with. And since the Cry Patches here hadn’t gotten any Cold since the days of King David himself, there was no chance of finding a Frost by accident.
I looked at the hammer, considering taking another few cracks just to get my frustration out, but instead turned to the book of paintings on the nearby table. I’d been studying it earlier, having put if off to the side so as not to get my sweat on any of the brittle pages. The library had plenty of scrolls and volumes related to the Fall. Ka’in’s collection was as complete as any I’d seen, and it was obvious that he was quite proud of the city’s history.
The tome in my hands now depicted violent recreations of the events at the Southern cliffs. I flipped back to the page I’d been lamenting over: an image of black-skinned demons shoving Jadans over the edge. The sands above and below the cliffs were on fire. Scorched bones from the Jadan bodies littered the fires, faceless and rotting, crawling with scarabs.
The text accompanying the current drawing was in the common tongue. I wasn’t as good at reading as I would have liked – the Nobles reserved a lot of words and terms for themselves – but I could surmise the general feel of the passage. It was pretty much the same as all of the passages, adding up to a single narrative.
During the Drought, many Jadans disregarded the Khat’s Gospels and fled to this city – Ziah, as it was known then – to escape the fate of becoming slaves. So when the time came, the Crier cursed Ziah, letting his brother Sun destroy those who hid within the city walls. The city began to heat up slowly, letting the Jadans boil over, eventually becoming so unbearable that everyone had to jump to their deaths.
This was known as the Fall.
I flipped through the pages. The answer was here in these pages, even if I couldn’t yet see it. It was between the words. Under the spine. Beneath the pages.
What do Jadans need?
There was one aspect of the whole scenario which I found most intriguing. The First Khat had set the land on fire – using the mythical substance known as ‘Desert’ – but the land had also gone back to normal after the Fall. Most likely, the city’s return was either because Desert had limited power, or that the Khat had taken it back after performing his terrible trick. These were my first, most obvious guesses. There was also a chance that the First Khat had tinkerers who’d discovered some alchemy to stop the effect, which I prayed was not the case.
What do Jadans need?
Flight.
A Frost.
Answers.
If Desert was a real thing it would answer so many mysteries; about the city, about the Great Drought. But there had never been any proof of its existence. If Desert was real, it was even rarer and more secret than Frosts.
‘If you’re taking a break,’ Leah said from behind me, giving me a start, ‘might I suggest some music?’
I’d forgotten she was with me in the tinkershop. I spun in my chair, finding her with her sewing needles idly in hand. The boilweed sheet she had been working on was even better work than the Opened Eye flag she’d sewn, this one about twice the size of a large sleeping blanket. I’d asked for the final cloth to be as large as she could make it, and Leah didn’t seem to mind the task. She did however insist on doing all the work in here with me.
‘Thanks,’ I said, my heart rate calming. ‘I guess I wouldn’t mind music.’
Leah beamed as she dropped the needles and picked up her harp. She wore gold ribbons in her luscious hair, which was fluffy and thick. I couldn’t tell for sure, but I suspected she’d begun to wipe orangefruit peels on the back of her neck. I got a whiff every time she watched me work over my shoulder.
‘What do you want to hear?’ she asked, setting the instrument between her thighs.
‘I want you to make something up,’ I said, looking away from her muscled legs and wiping a new sheen of sweat from my forehead. ‘Maybe I can feed off of your creativity. I’m certainly not having much luck of my own.’
She flexed her fingers. Then she began caressing two of the strings, plucking out a few gentle notes. Her face furrowed with disappointment. She bit her bottom lip, which was so plump that I had to look away. I’d thought about asking her to do her stitching work elsewhere, so I wouldn’t be distracted by her smooth skin and curious eyes, but her presence had an inspirational effect. I wanted to impress her. I wanted to become the Inventor who she believed me to be.
Shilah and I had created this wonderful, world-changing invention that could actually make Cold. I thought it had been a sign from the Crier. It was supposed to float our people to freedom on a tide of hope. It was supposed to motivate the Nobles to throw down their weapons and titles, helping us recreate paradise.
The Khat’s forces had arrived last night.
Our city was surrounded, with the gates barred and armies at our doorstep. Moans of fear could be heard throughout the moat, although they clashed with the rallies of hope. Most of the Flock really did see Shilah and I as Meshua, although at best, the Coldmaker now seemed like a happy accident. My fingers were numb to new ideas.
‘It’s not in tune with itself,’ Leah said of her harp, tightening the string. ‘That’s more important than anything else.’
She began to play a few scales, up and down, but they weren’t straight paths. The notes were punctuated by quick flurries. The melody was frantic. My heart quickened with the pace of her fingers and then slowed as she brought the notes to rest.
I was enraptured, letting myself be lulled away in the story of her song. A little distance from the problem might help. I could visualize the path she was taking me along. She took long strolls through the alleyways, relaxed and whimsical, but every few corners she would crouch low and sprint across the hot stones, as if pursued by taskmasters.
I closed my eyes and jumped with her from note to note.
How to fly?
If we could fly, we could rise up and gather the Cold in the stars ourselves. We could end the Drought in a way the Khat would never expect.
I’d been tinkering with the Sand Glider design that Leroi had come up back in the Tavor Manor. His was a slab of wood that had special blades at the back to push air, powered by a Cold Charge. In theory it was capable of riding the sands, although Leroi could never get it to work, because the Charge wasn’t strong enough. I thought the Wraithwater might do the trick, so much so that I could put the fan blades facing downwards and push my way to the sky. I built a model, but was having no luck with my ‘Air Glider’, so far, successful only in keeping the slab firmly on the stone floor while blowing all sorts of scrolls and trinkets around the vast tinkershop.
Despair was setting in heavy.
Besides the how of actually flying, there was also no telling how high into the sky the Cold waited. For all I knew there wouldn’t even be any air up there. Even if I succeeded in finding a way up, there was a possibility I would suffocate while trying to breathe thick black darkness.
Every idea I was coming up with was as trivial as the last.
I’d thought about a giant catapult that could launch me towards the stars, but that was quickly abandoned. Not only was it impractical, but dangerous. I’d never get high enough to reach Cold, and even with Leah’s ensuing Sky Sheet, I’d most likely come down hard enough to break all of my bones. It would never work by a long shot.
I’d looked to the extinct birds of the past, staring at pictures and diagrams in the books, wondering over how wings might have worked. I had learned the hard way that my arms were too weak and my body too heavy to fly in such a way. I’d experimented with tinkered wings, thankfully when Leah wasn’t there, as I was glad no one had witnessed that particular humiliation.
I thought about the Fire-powders that the Vicaress had shot into the air when she’d cornered our Coldmarch group at the River Singe. She’d used the powders to call her Hookmen from a distance. The red streaks had climbed into the night like whips of oil and flame, but the sizzling streaks didn’t seem anywhere near strong enough to carry a person.
Impossible.
The music was lovely, my thoughts anything but.
Leah stopped playing at once, the flowery melody wilting.
‘Sorry for interrupting,’ Cam said, sliding open the proper door. ‘That was really pretty. I immediately regret coming in, but there’s something you need to see, Micah.’
I let out a long sigh. ‘More armies?’
Cam nodded. ‘These from the Glasslands, I think. All their spears are glinting like crazy.’
‘But no sign of the Khat yet?’
Cam shook his head. ‘At least no sign of his chariot. He could be hiding—’
‘Then it can wait,’I said.
‘But—’
‘Is Shilah up there?’I asked.
‘Yes, but she wanted to see you. To plan together.’
I looked over at Leah and gave her a go-ahead motion. She began playing the harp again without hesitation.
‘This is the plan,’ I said, getting up and gesturing to the frame of the useless Air Glider. In essence it was only a platform of thin wood, the clay urn, and two cages on the sides where the blades would sit. But there was another piece, a piece that couldn’t be seen that weighed everything down. I wanted to smash the invention against the wall. ‘I don’t know any other plan.’
Cam nodded, biting his bottom lip.
‘What?’ I asked.
‘Nothing.’
‘Please tell me you have some ideas. Some secret that the High Nobles have been hiding since the Great Drought?’
Cam scratched at his chin which had gone gold with stubble. His eyes went over to Leah, whose hands caressed the harp like a mother lovingly braiding a child’s hair. Leah expertly plucked, not looking at the strings. Her eyes were focused on me. Large and inquisitive and lovely.
Cam leaned in and whispered. ‘Better be careful, pal.’
My stomach clenched and I snapped my fingers. ‘Ideas. Ideas.’
Cam sucked his cheek. ‘I can check the library for any clues again.’
‘No. We’ve already been over those texts, and there was nothing about flying.’
Cam eyed the shelf that used to hold the tinkershop books. I’d burned most of them, as the bulk of the pages were filled with designs that would only be useful in rebuilding Ka’in’s torture machines.
‘You feel trapped?’ Cam asked.
I gave him an incredulous look. ‘You don’t? There are more armies showing up every day and the gates are all barred closed. We’re actually under siege.’
Cam shook his head. ‘I’m hopeful. More hopeful than scared at least.’
‘Don’t go telling me you believe in me,’ I said. ‘That you’re not scared because you trust that I’ll figure a way out.’
Cam pretended to lock his lips with an invisible key.
‘No,’ I said. ‘Tell me that.’
‘Well it’s true.’
I flexed my bronze fingers. ‘I’ve never wanted to figure anything out so badly. Not even the Coldmaker. We actually need to fly, or else we die. The Coldmaker wasn’t life or death.’
‘Of course it was.’ Cam shrugged.
‘How so?’
Cam went over to the Air Glider, running his hand across the wooden platform. He stretched his fingers out to touch the clay urn in the middle.
‘In so many ways. Especially my life. Hey, this is better than Leroi’s,’ he said. ‘The old man would have been mighty proud of you.’
‘For failing?’
Cam ran his hand across one of the cages. I’d wrapped the copper wires around the outside bars, filtering them into the abb-Charged water. I’d already fit in most of the new wind-blades in the metal cage, but I hadn’t bothered with building railings on the upper platform yet. I never expected the machine to get off the ground.
‘For a brilliant Inventor, sometimes you can be Taskmaster dumb,’ Cam flicked the metal with his fingernail. ‘Maybe it’s a balance thing. You have to say stupid things sometimes in order to save up for the really smart ideas. It’s probably why one day I’m going to say something so profound that Shilah’s head will—’ Cam cut himself off, his eyes going wide. ‘Anyway. You would have told me you’d failed on the Coldmaker, up until the very second it proved itself a miracle. In fact, I remember you saying just that.’ He gestured to the top of the urn. ‘May I?’
I went to the cage and fitted the new blade in place, screwing it down. Once the blade was snug in its casing, I closed the cage and gestured for Cam to start it.
Cam flipped the lever on the side of the urn. Inside, the dividing rubber slid out of place and the spring-loaded gears dipped the copper wire into the solution. The giant blades began to whirr. They picked up speed inside the cage, forcing air downwards and sending out a smattering of dust. The wooden platform rocked from side to side slightly, the blades loud and frantic, but it wasn’t nearly enough to get any lift.
Cam turned the lever off.
Leah stared with wide eyes and then went back to playing her harp, the song coming back to life.
Cam bent down to examine the blades.
‘The clay container has the last of the Charged Water,’ I said. ‘So there’s no way to get any more power. Until we find a Frost, that is.’
‘And you’ve tried putting in tears?’ Cam asked. ‘That was the secret to the last big invention. I bet you Jadan tears are always the secret. It’s poetic. World Crier and all.’
I offered him a warm smile. His head was at least in the right place. I was lucky to have a real friend by my side.
‘I’ve tried tears,’ I said with a sigh. ‘And blood. Spit. Extra Chills. Every coloured salt. Powdered glass from the Shocklands. I tried fruit and green leaves and sugar. I doubled the salt. I—’
‘Did you try a mixture of Jadan tears? From more than one Jadan?’ Cam asked, running his hand along the cage. ‘If … in case the Crier is more present in a group.’
‘Hmm.’ I felt a small trickle of hope. ‘No I guess I haven’t.’
Cam nodded. ‘Come on. We’ll get some onions on the way to the balcony and maybe we can get the Five to shed us a few vials.’
‘Dunes wouldn’t even need onions,’ I said with a smile. ‘He’d cry a whole vial if I asked him.’
‘It’s a plan.’
I closed the book, making sure Leah wouldn’t have to witness any of the paintings. ‘And seeing the arriving armies might help spur me some ideas. Maybe if I stare at the Southern cliff for a while. At the place where we’ll all have to jump if I fail.’
Cam turned, a sad look in his eyes.
‘I meant it in a hopeful way,’ I said.
‘It came out a bit gloomy.’
‘It’s reality,’ I said, swallowing hard. ‘I just feel so weighed down. Since Abb. Since killing all those Nobles and … burying them in the sands. It’s like a slab of stone on my back, and I’m laying on broken glass.’
‘I can help with that,’ Leah whispered, only looking at her strings. ‘I would make you feel better.’
I coughed, trying to focus on the problem at hand.
Cam came over and put a hand over my shoulder.
‘I’ll help too,’ he said.
He pretended to push an invisible slab off of me, his face straining. His arms slapped across my back as he succeeded in removing the imaginary burden and he gave a dramatic sigh, wiping his hands of what would be dust.
‘Better?’ he asked with a smirk.
I smiled. ‘Actually, yes.’
‘What’s that thing you used to say?’ he asked.
I cocked my head. ‘What? Family?’
Cam’s eyes were alight. I couldn’t understand how or why. He’d been outside watching the Khat’s armies more than I had, spending so much time with Shilah and helping her keep the Flock calm. He saw what was surrounding the city, clawing at our walls and foaming at the mouth.
‘The thing,’ Cam said. ‘The thing that your father said when he took you out to the dunes. With the bucket.’
Had I really shared that memory with him? I didn’t remember telling anyone. The moment was too precious, too delicate, so much so that even speaking of it threatened to make it alter in any way.
I could still see my father at the banks of the River Kiln, hurling fistfuls of sand out of the bucket he’d made me carry across the dunes. With each toss he told me about a different lie the Nobles made us carry around, the things that held our people down. I’d been dripping with sweat, close to death, too empty to carry on, and ended up learning the most important lesson I’d ever learned.
‘Drop the Bucket,’ I whispered.
My father had gifted me the saying. It meant that words can kill just as quickly as thirst. It meant that I should search for truth, not for answers. It meant that the first, deepest and only freedom our people have left is to choose what to believe.
But the choice was everything.
‘Drop the Bucket,’ I said again, this time even quieter.
‘That.’ Cam nodded. ‘But I meant the other thing.’
‘What do Jadans need?’ I whispered.
Cam clapped me on the shoulder and led me over to the broken Coldmaker. I had a hard time looking inside, the spot where the Frost should have been empty now.
My chest rippled with loss. With hard truth.
The machine didn’t actually make Cold. It just redistributed the Cold from the Frost. Or extracted it. Even if I didn’t understand the mechanics, the Invention made it very clear that it didn’t create something out of nothing. It seemed to me that the whole machine was just an illusion. Yet it had served a purpose.
‘Say it again,’ Cam prodded.
‘What do Jadans need?’
‘This,’ Cam said, jabbing a finger towards the bronze Opened Eye that I’d chiselled into the lid. ‘They needed this and it came. Through your hands.’
‘But it doesn’t even work.’
‘But it did work, and it will again you fool!’ Cam said. ‘You asked the question. This was the answer. It was exactly what Jadans needed.’ He turned his finger upwards. ‘The Coldmaker started the rebellion. The Wraiths continued the rebellion. And now the Jadans need something else to finish the rebellion. We’ve had periods of failure along the way, but they were just cracks in the road, not the road itself.’
‘Flight,’ I said, with a sigh. ‘We need to fly so we can gather the Cold up there ourselves. That’s what Jadans need. We’ve already been over that, and I don’t know what else to—’
Cam bopped me on the head with his fist, just as Shilah had.
I scowled. Then I laughed.
Cam shrugged. ‘I thought that might be your idea button. Anyway, correct me if I’m wrong, but it wasn’t a Coldmaker you were trying to invent back in Leroi’s tinkershop, right?’
I gave a begrudging nod. ‘I was trying to make a Cold-finder. The Coldmaker was an accident.’
‘Mhmm. And the Charged Water wasn’t intended for torturing Nobles at first either? It was to power inventions, right? Also an accident?’
‘Right.’
‘That’s reality, Spout. Perhaps it’s “happy accidents” that the Jadans need. You might come across something that doesn’t look like flight, but will end up sending us straight to the stars. You just keep pushing, keep trying, and I think the Crier will provide something unexpected.’
Emotions welled up in my chest. This was something we never talked about, although we should have. ‘You believe in the World Crier. You actually believe.’
Leah’s music became dreamy. I didn’t look back in case she took that as a cue to stop playing.
Cam gave me an obvious sort of look. ‘Of course I do! How could I not?’
‘Because of all the slavery and death and pain. Because of how unfair everything is. Because of the armies surrounding us and only getting bigger. Because of all the bad in the world.’ I let out a long sigh. ‘If the Crier had any power at all, how could He let all of this happen?’
Cam twitched his lips.
‘Here’s how I see it,’ he said softly. ‘All the paintings, all the busts, all the images of the World Crier as an actual person, whether Noble or Jadan, I think – I don’t think it’s supposed to be literal. Put aside the Cold falling into the Patches and the Great Drought, I see the World Crier in a different sort of way. As an Idea more than a being. You of all people should know how much power an Idea holds. And as far as all the bad in the world, I don’t think it’s so much that things are flooded with bad, it’s just that things are missing good. Just like the ancient Cry Patches across the world, and mountain tops, and boiling rivers are missing Cold. Does that make sense?’
I raised an eyebrow.
‘Okay,’ Cam said, waving it away and going to the nearest table, where I had my meagre rations. ‘I’ll put it in tinker-terms.’ He picked up my waterskin and held it over a cup. ‘Like this. The inside of the cup is dry, right?’
‘Right.’
Cam shook his head. ‘Dry is just a made up word to describe missing water. It’s not that it’s dry, it’s just that the inside of the cup isn’t wet. Wet is the real thing. The thing that matters.’ He poured a bit of water into the cup. ‘It’s not the emptiness that’s real, it’s what the object is empty of.’
‘The Khat’s Priests taught you this?’
‘Shivers and Frosts, no!’ Cam said with a chuckle. ‘High Noble or not, the Priests would toss me in the Pyramid pits if they heard me talking like this. They believe in very black and white decrees. The Sun versus the Crier. Worthy versus unworthy.’
‘They’d toss you in the pits for helping a Jadan capture a city.’
‘Exactly my point! It’s because they’ve abandoned the Crier. They’ve pushed Him out of their hearts. All the spite and anger and hate, those are the marks of His absence. That’s the emptiness. And the First Khat must have found a way to push the Crier out of the land, but that doesn’t mean the Crier doesn’t exist. That He doesn’t still have real power.’
The music became choppy and then disappeared.
They put it in the ground, I thought. Just like Old Man Gum had said over and over in my barracks. They put Desert in the ground, gaining control, but losing everything that mattered.
Cam slid his finger around the rim of the glass. ‘The World Crier is like the water. The essence that matters. And even if He’s sometimes missing, even when it feels like everything is dry and will be dry forever, we can still know that He’s real. That He exists.’
‘But how?’
‘How?’ Cam asked, his brow furrowed. ‘Haven’t you ever laughed or loved so hard that you cried?’
I thought about it. ‘Yes. I guess I have.’
‘Boom. World Crier.’ He clapped my shoulder. ‘What other proof do you need?’
‘Cam,’ I said after a breath.
‘Yeah, Spout?’
‘That profound thing that you’ve been saving for?’ My heart squeezed, accepting a different hard truth. It stung. It burned. It made me feel lonelier than I had in a long time. But it was also so damn beautiful. ‘I wish Shilah had heard it.’
Cam turned back to the urn and touched his fingers lightly to the clay.
‘It’s okay,’ he said. ‘That one was for you.’
‘For us,’I said. ‘Family.’
Shilah surveyed the land from the balcony, holding the special Stinger that I’d tinkered for her. What made it different was that the end of the weapon had a braid of rubber bowstring which could be looped around her wrist in battle. I’d offered to use camel leather for the loop, having uncovered a few strips in the tinkershop, but Shilah refused so violently that I thought she might use the Stinger on me.
I’d added the braid to the weapon not because of the practicality, but because it matched Shilah’s hair. Her braid had become a mark of distinction, with the Flock always whispering about the blade she kept hidden in her locks. There were wild speculations, always shifting and changing. They said that the metal was always cold. That the blade had been melted down from King David’s old staff. That it had been mined out of the Great Divide, right under the spot where the Giant Frost had fallen and cracked open the land. I’d even heard it said that Shilah’s blade was etched with the very same words which caused the Crier to weep the world.
It was just an ordinary blade, small and sleek, but I would never have dreamed of taking their stories away. The older I’d gotten, the more I realized that it wasn’t so much the world that gave rise to stories, but rather the other way around.
The ‘Khatdom’ wasn’t real; it was just a story that the Nobles enforced with whips, pain, fear and history. The Gospels and Decrees were stories, all with very real consequences. The idea that Abb was my ‘father’ was just a story, since there was no actual blood relation; yet it was this forced and imaginary bond that had shaped me completely. Every Invention of mine had started out as nothing more than a notion in my head, of what might be.
Even the Crier Himself was just a story as far as I knew.
Perhaps such a story is what Jadans need.
I looked out across the landscape surrounding our city, trying not to buckle beneath the sight.
It had taken weeks for the Noble armies to amass in full, but finally the entire City of David’s Fall was surrounded. Thousands of enemy Nobles. They were stocked with gleaming armour and spears, and their tents and encampments stretched as far as the horizon would allow.
Makeshift markets had already been erected on the fringes. Caravans had been immobilized and opened for business. Pedlars and merchants were selling goods with feverish excitement to all the High Nobles who’d come to witness the spectacle. Thousands of pale faces smirked beneath vibrant parasols.
It was curious how commerce had been the first thing to thrive here, in the face of an impending slaughter. How prepared the merchants were for such a moment. They toted things like parasols with Closed Eyes, exotic fruits and thin sun skirts for surviving the long wait while the land boiled us alive. Purified prayer water was hawked by Priests, Sobek meat was roasted on spits and all sorts of other luxuries were enjoyed in preparation for the show.
Dunes and the Five had been surveying the incoming hordes, looking closely for overturned land, especially on our side of the walls. So far they’d found no signs of digging; of things being put in the ground. We hardly knew anything about Desert, and Old Man Gum’s warning was the only thing we had to go on. I was actually hoping the Five might find a freshly buried Desert, because even though it would be poisoning the land, at least we would understand the Khat’s tactic and possibly be able to put up a fight.
Because if we were wrong, and the Desert could be used some other way, we stood no chance.
The gates to the city had all been sealed shut from the other side. The Khat was allowing no one in or out. And although most of the Jadans inside the city still believed in our cause, there was a faction that sat by the walls and wailed for release.
A slight but steady stream of our people abandoned the Flock with each day, realizing what was about to befall the city. They foresaw death and decided to join up with the crestfallen. They pounded their fists against the sealed doorways, screaming about their unworthiness until their voices broke, apologizing and begging the Khat not to be sent to the black. The doors remained sealed. There would be no way out. The Khat would make an example of us all.
It made me question whether the Khat had allowed us to take the Sanctuary in the first place, to rally his armies over a dramatic cause. It was possible that the Nobles we’d discovered in the Sanctuary had been willingly sacrificed, as the Khat knew it would make for a spectacle. A better story.
By now, rumour would have got out about the Jadans who could make Ice. About ‘Meshua’. And even though we were sealed off from the rest of the Khatdom, Jadans and Nobles alike would have heard about us all the way back in Paphos. There would be talks of rebellion stirring even in the furthest reaches of the Khatdom, like the Shocklands and the Hotland Delta. Two golden abbs were out there somewhere in the pockets of my Jadan kin, along with stories of what they could do, and chances were word was spreading. Such powerful rumours were a new enemy that the Khat wouldn’t be able to simply whip or lie into submission.
But with something as glorious as a second Fall, he could end it all in a single strike.
One final Cleansing.
Not only our rebellion, but future rebellions. This would prove that the ‘divinity’ of the Khats was still intact, and would lead to another eight hundred years of torment and servitude. Any hope of things changing would die along with our secrets.
The Coldmaker would be destroyed. Knowledge of how it worked would be destroyed. And even if there was another Jadan who stumbled across the secret for Ice generations in the future, he or she would remember the second Fall and abandon the pursuit. They’d probably turn themselves over to the taskmasters just for entertaining such a blasphemous thought.
I almost envied the Khat’s genius manoeuvring.
‘There are more Khatfists and soldiers showing up every hour,’ Shilah said, her words solemn.
‘Yes,’ I said. ‘Who wouldn’t want to see us Jadan scum burn? The whole Khatdom is going to have eyes here. So just imagine if we succeed.’
‘When we succeed,’ Cam coughed into his palm.
‘When we succeed,’ I said. ‘Then things will change.’
Shilah lifted the Stinger and swept the blades towards the massive Noble crowds, searching for a particular enemy. Here on the top plateau, we were too high up and too far away from the gates to be able to make out individual faces within the crowd of thousands. But one figure stood out wherever she lurked. Shilah swooped through the armies and eventually honed in on the black-clad figure. She hovered near the Khat’s tent, holding up a pike with a golden Closed Eye at the tip.
The Vicaress of David’s Fall.
‘What do you think she’s thinking?’ Shilah asked. ‘She obviously knows we killed the Vicaress of Paphos.’
‘They were second cousins,’ Cam said.
‘Is that right?’ I asked.
‘Yes,’ Cam said. ‘And they were close.’
Shilah kept the tip of the Stinger pinned on the dark figure, following her through the bustling crowd. This Vicaress was not nearly as graceful as the one I’d known, walking with a limp and a hunched back. Nobles were bowing to her regardless, and she was giving out scrolls to whoever showed supplication. My teeth probably would have broken from clenching if I knew what was written on those parchments.
‘Soon the Vicaress of Belisk is going to mourn both of them,’ Shilah said. ‘And then the Vicaress of Marlea is going to mourn all three. And so on and so on until every one of the Khat’s entire High Noble family is dead.’
Cam jerked, his cough real this time.
‘In his immediate family,’ Shilah corrected, swinging her Stinger around and pointing it at Cam playfully. ‘Some of you High Nobles have earned your place at my side.’
Cam help up his hands defensively and then caressed his cheek. ‘Phew. Be a travesty if such beauty ended here.’
My stomach knotted. I surveyed the outer lands. Their outer perimeters continued to bulge deeper into the sands. ‘Still no sign of the Khat himself, though.’
‘He’ll want to make it dramatic,’ Cam said. ‘He’ll probably wait until all his favourite, most vicious relatives are here before he shows.’
‘How many more can there be?’ I asked under my breath, estimating at least five thousand bodies surrounding us. This was including the Jadans who had been brought along from other cities. A large group had been tasked with building a stage, the purpose of which I was not eager to find out.
A flicker of fear crossed Shilah’s face. She quickly composed herself.
‘It doesn’t matter,’ she said. ‘Because we know what to expect. And they don’t know that we know.’
‘And if the Khat just decides to break open the gates and flood the city?’ I asked. ‘He can kill us all with a few hundred swords.’
‘Then he’ll have lost the bigger battle,’ Shilah said. ‘In a sense. He’ll have to admit he doesn’t have the Crier’s divine powers on his side and he can’t make the city burn. The minute he enters the city, he’ll have proven that there is no second “Fall”, because a Fall entails us all killing ourselves when we can’t take the heat. So the more Nobles who show up the better. Even if we die, they’ll be forced to look that lie in the face.’
I nodded. ‘You know what, you’re right. I bet he didn’t plan for that.’
Cam prodded me with an elbow. ‘See. Happy accidents.’
Just then, drums pounded in the distance.
They were low and droning, and it wasn’t the first time they’d been sounded. We hadn’t figured out their meaning, but Shilah was convinced that they were purely for intimidation. I wasn’t so sure.
The groups of Jadans camping around the Sanctuary reacted the same as they had during the last bout of drumming. They whispered and trembled and looked up to us for leadership, their faces distraught with terror. Children screamed and older Jadans tried to calm them down. Hope left the air after each thunderous beat.
I had no more Ice.
Nothing to give except promises so hollow that they could be cracked open and admired for their staggering emptiness.
Breathing became difficult.
It’s what the Khat wanted. I was losing my composure.
The Sun was in a fine mood. Its fiery tongues explored my body, tasting my dismay.
The drums echoed off the buildings and temples and barracks of the city, loud even up on our top plateau. The notes gathered into an ear-rattling thrum, reminding us that we were trapped in every direction. Reminding us there was no escape.
The ranks of Noble shoppers and spectators cheered as the drums suddenly halted. Then they went about spending their Cold. Merrily they tried on jewellery and bit into ripe Khatmelons. Dozens of easels had been set up close to the walls, artists waiting with wet brushes, eager to capture the moment on canvas.
‘Any sign of Ka’in?’ Cam asked.
‘Nothing yet,’ I said.
‘He’ll probably try to make his entrance as dramatic as the Khat,’ Cam said, clearly perturbed. ‘Ka’in’s probably the bastard behind that stage.’
‘What do you think it’s for?’ I asked, heart in my throat.
We went silent for a while, listening to the absence of drums.
‘You been holding up okay?’ I asked Shilah. ‘I know I’ve kind of left you alone in command.’
She and Cam exchanged a glance.
It was full of answers.
She nodded. ‘It’s okay, Micah. And your work is more important. The Flock is scared of course, but they’re trying to stay calm. Ellia and Ellcia are building us one hell of a reputation, too. And of course Leah’s been cooing about you as if she’s seen the Crier’s blood in your veins.’
Heat shot into my cheeks and another long silence settled in.
‘How’s the tinkering coming?’ Shilah asked, a smirk on her lips. ‘Any breakthroughs?’
Cam went tense.
I paused and then shook my head.
‘Want me to help come up with some ideas?’ Shilah asked, putting her hand on the back of my neck. ‘Don’t forget we’re still a team.’
A tear formed at the corner of my eye. I dabbed at the wetness with my bronze pinky.
‘Yes,’ I said. ‘Yes, I would like that. Cam had a good idea to try, but I can use as many ideas as you have.’
She squeezed and then let go, her fingers dragging across my numbers.
‘Consider it done.’ She snuck Cam a secret wink that unfortunately I could see. ‘And don’t worry. We’ll have plenty of time. The Khat has one play here, and it’s going to fail.’
‘I hope you’re right,’ I said.
‘She’s right,’ Cam said. ‘High Nobles are arrogant. Not me of course, but as a general rule they are. And the Khat is the Highest Noble. He won’t expect us to know anything. Especially not about Desert.’
‘If it’s even a real thing,’ I said.
Whips cracked. Shouting began in the distance.
I couldn’t tell which side of the wall was screaming.