THE KINGDOM Guards are screaming, but in the fourth ring, they think it is part of the show. Mother Maisy is known for her gory brand of theater effects. The woman can do anything, they say. She owns the best traveling show in all the Immortal City.
Lawl watched Anger and Spite from behind the stage curtain as they seduced the two unfortunate guards. The twins gestured for them to follow, their muscular glutes in striped tights giving an open invitation as they led the way. Mother Maisy was with Key, decorating his face like a warrior with the makeup Lawl used every night. He looked fierce when she was finished. Finely applied black vines half-mooned his eyes and beneath them were swaths of red and black. At the center of his forehead was a red triangle. Lawl did not know what it meant, if anything at all, but the child looked only half as innocent as he was. How the old blind woman had managed to paint his small face so precisely was a mystery as well. Lawl was curious, but thought the answer best left to the enigmas and the shadows.
In an alley nearby, the twins were both completely naked, lying on their backs head to head on a couple of large wooden crates as the guards fucked them. Anger and Spite held each other’s hands over their heads as the guards tore into them angrily, punching and cursing at the twins as they fucked. The boys testicles were thoroughly abused, but they showed no signs of distress. Their faces were emotionless, but their eyes… They both turned to Lawl and watched him until he suddenly felt ashamed for having witnessed their rape and turned back for the wagon. Their expressions haunted him, so much rage in them that he was certain the only color they ever saw was deep red.
And they are getting plenty of it tonight. The guards are part of the show, and they are bleeding their sins away. They are screaming for an end, but the crowd sees only effects and a dazzling display of grotesquerie.
When Lawl saw that the guards were still with the troupe, only now bound and naked, he knew he would need to close his eyes at some point. The guards were whimpering for someone to help them, anyone. The crowd laughed and threw scorn and derision their way. When the naked twins, with bruises on their bodies from the night before, whipped out a large, sharp blade and hacked off the members of the two men, the crowd cried in wonder and horror. The guards bellowed and screamed. The twins, however, assuring the crowd that it was all a show, gestured to their own missing members as if they had not put up that much of a fuss. The crowd laughed.
And now they have brought out Lolly in her cage. The twins throw her the severed penises, and she eats them like candy. Lawl knows to close his eyes. He tries to tell himself the guards brought this on themselves, but empathy will not abandon him. Key does not watch, either. He buries his face in Lawl’s stomach as Lolly roars, the guards scream, and the crowd cheers. Lawl knows he will never forget those screams.
Now the shows are through and Mother Maisy’s Traveling Tribe of Wonders is back on the road. They travel on the side roads. That is the only way to get to the fifth ring without attracting unwanted attention. The main road is being carefully watched since the sinner’s march made it to the fifth. There are so many holes in the fourth-ring wall, though, that any blind woman could throw a rock and find one. The wagon itself does not go into the fifth ring. The twins take their government-rented steeds into the forest. Lawl rides with Spite, Key with Anger. Lawl feels safe with Spite, as if behind a wall where no one can get to him. Mother Maisy stands on the wagon steps calling, “Vengeance! Blood and vengeance!” She is an apocalyptic town crier. Lawl watches her as they slip into the wall. She is the maddest person he has ever met, and the angriest.
Orphans meet them on the other side. They seem familiar with the silent giants on horseback, asking them to flex as they travel alongside them on the densely forested trail. The twins oblige. The night is so dark, Lawl wonders how any of them can see their way, but they do. They slip in between trees and boulders and ruins like shadows and shades.
They travel all night, and come morning they arrive at a small encampment of men and women. The leader of the group nods at Lawl. “Ya wish to march?” he says to Lawl.
“We both do,” Lawl replies, gesturing to Key. The boy is still wearing the face paint Mother Maisy had decorated him with.
The twins dismount and help Lawl and Key from the horses.
“We’ll get some breakfast for ya, then,” says the man. “I imagine you’re hungry after the night’s ride. Then we’ll make for the march. My name’s Royce.”
“I’m Lawl. This is Key.”
Royce nods, then looks to the twins. “You fellas come get ya some food, too. Ya do good work.”
Lawl couldn’t tell whether the twins appreciated his words or not, but they and the orphans join everyone else around the campfire. A few of those in the camp are forest folk who cook whatever Royce and his hunters bring back from the hunt. One of the cooks, an old woman with as many wrinkles as years, takes immediately to Key, admiring his painted face.
“You’ve found us at an impasse,” Royce says to Lawl as they are sitting on a log by the fire. “The march has stalled until we find a way through the fifth wall.”
“But a way will be found, right?”
“Oh, aye. Don’t doubt it. We’ve got a queen leading us.” He tears into a roasted giant rat leg.
“Gemma Kerr.”
“No. The other one. The redhead. Gemma’s a lovely hero, no doubt about it. But it’s Queen Rose who’s keepin’ us going. That woman can fight.”
They leave for the sinner’s march. The twins and the orphans are thanked for their help. Lawl watches as Anger and Spite disappear into the woods surrounded by children on their mounts. Such rage and innocence, such a human thing.
They journey through dark vales and creek beds, over barrows and the remains of once proud homes. They come to the march at last and are greeted by the hero herself, the girl Gemma. Lawl is surprised when he sees her. She looks nothing like her mother. Whereas her mother scowled with condescension, Gemma smiles with compassion. She takes both Lawl and Key into her arms at once.
“Welcome,” she says. “To the future.”
Lawl takes in his surroundings. The marchers have built a moveable city. And their number far exceeds what he imagined. A twinge in his gut tells him that this will lead to trouble. The larger the number, the harder it will be to hide. There will be death. Best keep the child close by.
Key is making friends with Eight and Two and Madden when at last the redheaded woman appears. She has been out scouting on her horse, Lawl is told. She is every bit the queen and leads her gray mare as assuredly as any of the horselords around the camp. All look at her with respect. Some of the forest folk even bow.
Lawl notices Key paying special attention to Queen Rose. His mouth drops, and a tear runs down his cheek. The queen notices him as well. She squints, and then her eyes widen and well up.
“My boy!” she cries as she runs to embrace him. Key is hugging her so tight, Lawl believes he might hurt her. The child is sobbing, taking in huge gasps of air, and the queen herself is covering him with kisses. Others in the crowd cheer and begin to weep openly at the reunion as well.
“Well done,” Royce says to Lawl. “The queen at last has found her prince.”
GOD IS dining.
Senator General Hegart stands below the high chair and hears the slurps and tongue-smacking as His Holiness masticates another soul. The Senator General wonders who has the honor of being digested by GOD. Is it an orphan? Perhaps an elderly gypsy? Or maybe even a baby? Theirs were the purest of souls, GOD has assured Hegart. Abandoned babies are hard to come by, however. They die so quickly on their own. But remnants of soul might still be in their tiny bones.
No Children in Red are in the chamber now. Hegart notices too the empty council chairs as he waits on GOD to finish eating. Not one of the four is filled. They have all died and most likely been incinerated. Their bodies were useless, having lost their souls years ago. What does a soulless body taste like, he wonders.
GOD finishes His meal with a long aching moan and then silence. The darkness of the chamber is oppressive and heavy.
After a few more minutes, a whisper crawls toward Hegart’s ears. “What news of the realm, Senator General?”
“The people are restless, Your Worship.”
“I have seen that much from my monitors.” GOD’s hushed voice crawls down the trumpet like a snake slithering. “Even here in the first ring, there have been uprisings.”
“Begging your mercy, but not uprisings. Only easily quelled dustups.”
“Still, should I be looking for a new Senator General?”
This strikes Hegart to the gut. “I beg Your Worship, Your Almighty, please give me another chance. I have served you well. Better than most. We can increase the public executions—”
“The executions only seem to be making the citizenry more irritable. And aside from that, at the rate you are killing the sinners, I will have a serious dent in my food supply before long. I can only consume those who are freshly deceased, those who still have soul to spare.” GOD is not happy. He creaks and groans in his chair, each sound coming down the trumpet like a slap to Hegart’s face. “Are the rumors true?” GOD says. “Is this march that you believe so insignificant headed for the ninth ring?”
“That is what we believe, yes.”
“Why do you think that is their destination?”
“We do not know yet. But I have our best ferryman on it. Cayden Lothair is following the march.”
“Ah, good. The hero killer.”
Indeed, thinks Hegart. But he feels something is amiss with Cayden of late. The man has disappeared in the jungles, not reporting back to his guards for days. Hegart grows suspicious.
“It will save us time if the sinners take themselves to the ninth. Time and strength. We shall have an army waiting for them when they arrive. Make that happen. I want the healthiest taken alive. Kill all the others at your whim.” GOD’s whispers are taking on a high, excited quality. “But continue tracking them. It would be best if we arrested this march before they reach the ninth, otherwise we look weak. I look weak. You may use our other means to stop these sinners since it looks as if the forests and wilderness of the fifth ring are proving to be such a barrier for you.”
“The fire dogs and the hungry men?” Hegart smiles, his lips rising like a fleshy curtain over his sharpened teeth.
“Yes. But keep them under control. I don’t want a repeat of the Third-Ring Massacre.”
“I won’t let you down.”
“Best not. Not again, anyway. If you still had a soul, I would have already had you on my table, Hegart.”
“Y-yes, sir.”
“Now, what about this woman from the march that you captured?”
“Sary Cledes. The woman is absolutely gone, Your Worship. There is nothing left of her mind. She refuses to speak and only screams unintelligible gibberish when we put her to the question.”
“Is she otherwise healthy?”
“Aye.”
“Then send her to the ninth… but first, cut her tongue out. I’ll have it mixed and served with peppers and onions.”
DEEP IN the forest, near the fifth-ring wall, is an ancient city hub. Its plaza and forum were once filled with people, not trees and jungle creatures. Structures surround the plaza, and those that have not crumbled to piles of detritus stand stubborn and proud against the giant trees and creeping tendrils. The sinners pour onto the plaza in search of some place to rest or explore. Whenever they come across ruins, they go in search of weapons or anything else that might prove useful. Many of the marchers choose to station themselves by the remains of wells or under the branches of strong trees. Lawl is exploring with Key and Rossa. The child holds both their hands. Gemma follows with Madden and the orphans, Two and Eight, riding the beast’s back.
Of all the structures surrounding the plaza, the one that has weathered the storms of time with the most grace is a domed structure with large steps leading up to a columned portico. Half of the dome itself has given away, and large branches crawl from it like new life from an egg. Vines are so thick on the portico that those passing need to be careful where they step.
Once inside, past the arched doorway and rotted remains of rusted double doors, it is quite apparent, at least to Lawl, where they are.
“It’s a library,” he says, staring in awe.
In the center of the building grows the massive, twisting tree that has broken the dome. It has taken root on a map, now unreadable, painted on the tile. Tables in various stages of decomposition are scattered across the first level. Leather book covers litter the floor. To either side of the entrance are ornate, curving staircases with Passions as banister heads—one a wolf, the other a lizard. The second level is a half moon of tall bookshelves, some of them even containing the scrolls and works they last held when people were yet using the library, but most now holding but shadows and squirrels. The wind moans through the place like a ghost reader mourning the loss of pages and stories.
“Sweet Passions,” Gemma remarks, her eyes wide. “Tully would have loved this, wouldn’t he, Madden?”
Lawl decides to make camp with Key and Rossa on the portico. People have collected firewood and assembled into small groups throughout the plaza. Night descends on a low hum of activity. There will be ghosts tonight.
Lawl watches Key snuggled into Rossa across the firelight. The child has not stopped smiling since he saw her. Lawl is glad of this, though, admittedly, he’s somewhat jealous. He rather liked looking after Key. He even imagined a future where the child would join he, Duncan, and Gran somewhere, perhaps in one of Duncan’s dreamed-of homes in the first ring. Key catches Lawl looking at him and smiles. He drums out a light rhythm on his instrument. A thank-you.
“You’re an amazing man, Mr. Lawl,” says Rossa, her arm around the child as she leans back on a column. “I be in your debt for findin’ the boy and bringin’ him to me safely.”
“No debts. How could anyone look at that face and turn the stinker away?”
“Indeed.” Rossa smiles and kisses Key on the forehead. In the firelight, she is majestic. “How did ya find him? Where have ya been hidin’ out?”
Lawl thinks about telling Rossa of Esther Kerr, he thinks that he should certainly tell Gemma, but why? From what he heard, Gemma has no intention of ever returning to her mother. Like him, she wants nothing more to do with the first ring. If he tells her of Esther, of how close the woman is to the edge, he fears Gemma might give up on the march, abandon everything she has come so far for with one foolish rash decision. It is a selfish reason and he knows this.
In response to her question, he says, “We hid away in a very big house with a very angry, lonely woman. And then, when the time seemed right, we skipped away with Mother Maisy and her twins.”
“Another angry, lonely woman.”
“Aye. Just so.”
The camp is asleep but for Lawl and those assigned to lookout. Rossa and Key are huddled together. The faint glow of perishing campfires is all that is clear through the dense forest. Lawl realizes sleep will not come tonight. He has slept very little without Duncan’s comforting arms to hold him. He might die of exhaustion someday. He rises and wanders into the library.
Scant light sifts in from the broken dome, giving everything a blue death pallor. Lawl lights the firestick he carries in his bag and searches through this newly discovered tomb. Little is left of actual writings. Time has destroyed much of the parchment and only the leather covers of some of the volumes are even legible. There is some ancient Quakespeare, some forgotten Shaucer, a scrap of what was once a grand volume of Romer. Few in the Immortal City know those names, but Lawl recognizes them. Gran taught him from her own library before it was burned for heat when he was a child. That had broken her heart, and he remembered her gazing into the fire with wet eyes. She wanted to burn with her books, he could see that.
Beneath the massive tree under the broken dome, Lawl finds a table strewn with books, scrolls, and ledgers, which have been nearly petrified. He digs through the works as best he can, but finds not a single written word to prove they had been books at all. As he clears the books and scrolls from the table, piling them neatly on the floor, he notices a crack in the slab. He follows it with his finger and discovers it widening as he goes. He realizes this is not a table at all. This is a coffin.
He pushes the remaining debris to the ground, then stands back and takes it in. The tree has grown up around it, so it has been here for quite some time. There is wording on the coffin. It is nearly perfect, having been protected from the elements for centuries. He blows away the dust and he reads:
Here he lies, the King of Last Hope, the One Born to Save Us.
We leave the world a forgotten people, though once great.
We who have doomed ourselves to being forgotten.
We who have brought about the End of the World.
We who relied too heavily, proudly on our technology.
We who gave up the written word and instead put all to devices.
We who lost the ability to tame nature and so lost our history,
Our culture, our lives, when the End of the World was upon us.
If any will read this, please remember us, please come find us.
We are gone to the outer world.
You must go there too. Do not linger here. This is no place for humanity.
This is no place for the living.
You must breach the walls.
We are gone today.
We will be waiting for you.
MAGS HENSIL is feeling suffocated, but she goes where GOD bids her to go. She is a Sister, and a Sister has no purpose but to obey GOD. To do what He bids, for He knows what is best in all things. GOD cares for all sinners, even these before her now on their knees in the Undercity.
The place smells foul. It is old and useless. To think, she has been walking above these derelicts and heathens for years without even knowing it. But GOD knew. He has to have known. GOD knows all. For some reason, He simply saw reason to keep this sinner’s hole a secret. She will not question His reasoning.
Something itches. She scratches her head, but it is a deeper itch than that. She cannot get to it. Like a tickling hair in the ear.
These ancient underground structures, remnants of some lesser world, will be destroyed once they have the sinners carted off. All for the better. But it will take time as the Undercity runs for miles and miles. It may take years for the whole nether landscape to be discovered and eradicated. Even the sinners have only been living in a small part of a grander underworld. This city’s history will be forgotten again.
Mags has commanded all statuary of the gods and Passions be wrecked on sight. The statue of Abrythnia in the fountain was the first to meet its fate. Mags hears about a whole burial path ahead with terrible demons as high as any building up above, and she wants them destroyed before she has to look at them. Those who have been buried there are disremembered anyway. Why would they need a demon to announce their unimportance?
The same is being done to the old barrows and stone gardens up above. The Passion statuary is being smashed to gravel and dust. The Immortal City will have no signs of false gods anywhere within or beneath it. This should have been done long ago.
“Your gods have abandoned you,” she says to those sinners who did not march. She is the White Mother above the flock of fallen. “Do you wish to repent?”
“It was our choice to stay behind,” says an older man with dirty gray facial hair. “We had the honor of relayin’ what bastardry you and your fuckin’ tyrant god got up to.”
“Why must they always talk back?” Mags asks herself aloud. She nods to a Kingdom Guard, and he buries a spear in the old man’s ribs. “Send the rest to the ninth ring. A gift for GOD.”
“And what of those that escaped into the lower levels,” asks another guard. “Women and children.”
“You can’t find them?”
“No, Sister. We’ve been lookin’, but they know the Undercity too well.”
“That’s a shame. The babies have the purest of souls.” She sighs in disappointment. “No matter. Set fire to what is flammable, and then seal off the exits. This is their hell.”
“Yes, Sister,” says the guard. He turns and relays the orders to his underlings.
“The rest of you get these vermin off their knees and into my wagons. The ninth ring will be waiting for them, I’m sure, with much eagerness.”
THEY ARE prepared to fight. Every one of them, from old to young, from lame to healthy. Rossa sees this and she is proud, if sad. They are willing to die for the march, for their passion. Even if it looks pointless, at least they are making a stand. Perhaps after them, when they have all been slaughtered, the next brave souls to make such a stand will succeed. Perhaps they will have been inspired by this sinner’s march.
Rossa sits in a small circle on the library portico with those who have volunteered to lead in the fight should they come across guards and ferrymen. Beside her sit Gemma and Royce, Lorien the horseman, and a few of the forest folk. Around them are the sounds of training, the clanging of old swords and battle axes. The guard that Sary Cledes didn’t manage to kill is doing his best to instruct the marchers on the ways of GOD’s Army.
“He’s doin’ well,” Royce says. “The children seem to pick up his techniques goodly and quickly.”
Key is close by, keeping his own against both Eight and Two. Theirs is more play than fight, but learning is going on through the grins and laughter.
Every time Two is struck, he frowns and shouts, “Bad dog!” Then he smiles again and takes up the fight once more.
“Aye,” Rossa agrees. “But fightin’ the Kingdom Guards with their own tactics will not win us any battles. We need to think differently.”
“No need to worry there, lady,” says a forest elder named Gol. “We can swing through the trees. We can fly. They’ll not see us comin’.”
“But what if there are no trees around us when Hegart decides to attack?” says Gemma. “What if we’re on the grass plains?”
“We can adapt their guerilla tactics,” Lorien says. “It can be easily done. The element of surprise is much needed against so large an army. It’s the only hope we have, I think.”
“Agreed.” Rossa pops a berry into her mouth from the bushel brought to the meeting by the forest folk. “We must play nasty against so nasty a foe. One can’t survive these days by playin’ by the rules. Those basterds was the ones who set up the rules in the first place. Gol, how soon can ya begin showin’ us your way of fightin’?”
“Now. Right now, lady. There ain’t no time to waste as I sees it.”
“Good. We’ll start as soon as we’re done here.” She turns to Royce. “How many of the guards did ya see on your scoutin’ at the ring wall?”
“Not many, though some may’ve been out of sight. The wall is so damn big. We counted five.”
“So few?” Gemma says.
“It’s a remote section of the wall in a remote part of the fifth ring,” replies Royce. “In that, we be lucky. They most likely see no reason to add more guards here. The forest folk have never been any trouble to them, and no one else has ever tried to get through in so large a number.”
Rossa turns to Gol again. “And ya believe the explosives you’ve come up with will be enough to get us through the wall?”
“Aye,” Gol says proudly. “We know many secrets. The forest gives us the ingredients. We only have to bake the cake. And then, when those guards open their door, Happy Birthday! BOOM!”
Royce laughs. “Twisted basterd.”
“Must there be death?” Gemma says. “Must someone die? There’s already been too much.”
“It’s revolution, my friend,” says Rossa. “And revenge. Neither happens without bloodshed or else the point be missed.”
Lawl approaches the group from below. The look on his face tells Rossa something exciting has happened. He is not shuffling as usual. He has been out exploring more of the ancient city. The child Key sees him and stops his play with the orphans. He runs to Lawl’s side with the drum and gives a drumroll on the instrument as if in anticipation. On cue, Lawl holds up a thick tube of wire to Rossa.
“Vengeance,” Lawl hisses.
“What’s this?” Rossa says, taking the wire.
“I was adventurin’ along a path, and I stumbled across this piece of tubin’. It’s copper mostly.” He looks at it with a mischievous grin. “It looks like trash, but I know better. Aye, I searched until I found its source, an uprooted copper tube pokin’ up beside a stone walkway. I followed it for a bit. Other tubes were shootin’ off this way and that, but the main tube kept headin’ in the same direction.”
“What is it, Lawl?” Gemma says.
“It’s a communication tube,” he says in a revelatory whisper. “Power. What they called electricity in the ancient days, and I’ll wager that large tube goes all the way back to the first ring.”
“An ancient technology that helped bring about the End of the World,” says Lorien. “What good is it to us?”
Lawl crouched down beside the horseman’s ear. “Plenty. Ya see, when I bent to dissect a bit of the tube, I encountered quite a shock from my knife. Why, it threw me back a couple of feet. Oh, it hurt, but I couldna help but laugh.”
Rossa’s eyes lit. “It’s live?”
“It’s live.” Lawl grinned.
“But how?”
“I don’t know,” Lawl says with a near laugh. “But I think this could be used to our advantage. I have a bit of technical expertise, if ya wanna call it that.”
“What would ya suggest we do, Mr. Lawl?” says Rossa.
Lawl looks to Gemma slyly, and Key gives another drumroll. “Gemma, sweets. How be your speakin’ voice?”
THE CHILDREN are marching through the forest to the fifth-ring wall. Key leads them proudly with his drum. Behind him march Eight and Two, their brothers and sisters, and the other orphans and children of the forest. They are streaked with war paint of charcoal and flower stains, and marching to a BOOM BOOM BOOM born of Key’s rhythmic mind and let loose on the skin. He is enjoying this. He knows his father would approve. His father would be marching right alongside him. In fact, Key believes he is. He has seen his father in the trees, watching him in the night.
Key pounds louder and with more passion the nearer the march gets until at last they come out of the forest and face the wall, still marching in place. The other children call for the guards in the wall as Key continues his BOOM BOOM BOOM.
“Come and face us, cowards!” cries Eight as fierce as she can.
Two simply roars as if he is a bear. The other orphans follow suit.
The forest children hoot and holler like monkeys and birds.
A stone door in the wall slides open, and two guards walk out. They are unimpressed and smiling. They have not even bothered to raise their weapons.
“What is this?” one of them says. “What sort of bother wakes me from my nap? Get on home before you hurt yourselves, children. Go back to your trees.”
Key continues to play his drum. His face is solemn and unwavering.
“I said git,” says the guard. The smile falls from his face. “You are not a march worth my time.”
The children do not move. They do quiet, however. They hush and stare. Key thumps a low drumroll. It sounds like a mumble of nerves.
“Creepy little shit,” the guard says as he raises his sword. He comes for Key, but he stops as the children part behind the boy and reveal the massive hound that crouches there.
Madden drools and rises.
“Fuck!” the guard says, his eyes revealing deep fear.
“Indeed,” Rossa says as she slips out of the forest beside the guard, holding a knife to his throat. “Now drop the sword.”
Key smiles up at the guard, and the sword falls to the ground. Key takes it for himself.
Behind Rossa, Royce is on the other guard by the wall.
“Well done, children,” says Rossa. “You are now our prisoners,” she says to the guards. “Now, where be your brethren?”
He says nothing, but spits. Key kicks him in the shins.
“Not talkin’? No matter. We’re more than a match for ya.”
A tumult in the forest announces the marchers, a face behind every tree and every bush. Both guards are taken aback.
“It’s the sinners,” says the guard held by Royce. “It’s the sinner’s march.”
“Aye,” says Rossa. “Now we’d like a little tour of your facilities.”
Inside the wall, it is dark but for a few candles. The fireplace has not seen use in years, but it would not help keep things warm anyway. The walls separating room from room have long since fallen or are in the process of falling. The place might have been grand at one time, but now there is little but gloom and a never-ending darkness of hallway. A candle glows on a half-standing table where a half-eaten plate of slosh sits. Flies decorate it now.
The march begins to move through. The place gives Key the shivers. He dare not touch his drum. He fears things are hiding here. Forgotten things waiting to be called upon. Even his father might not be able to save him from them.
There is a commotion. The guard has elbowed Rossa in the stomach and is running down the darkness, screaming for the other guards. Lorien quickly strings an arrow and brings the guard down. Three more guards appear suddenly from the dark, staring at the marchers in fear and confusion. They do not run. Instead, perhaps instilled with a false sense of GODly protection, they charge. Lorien shoots another through the neck. The downed guard sprawls across the table, knocking the slosh to the ground.
Madden opens his great jaws on another and carries him screaming into shadow. The third comes swinging for Rossa. He strikes, but she is quick and avoids his blade. She swings her sword, and he blocks. The sound of metal against metal fills the hall as the guard strikes with maddening frenzy at Rossa. She grabs her axe as well. His fury and zeal seem too much at times. Key watches from behind Lawl, wanting to do something to help. It is all brought to a quick end, however, as Gemma steps from out of the crowd and stabs the guard through the back with a knife. The man gasps and falls dead.
“We have precious little time,” she says. She is shaking. Her eyes seem lost. “We must get through the wall.”
They load Gol’s explosives into the ring, and the marchers file back out to a safe distance, a sense of accomplishment sweeping through them. Key feels it. This… this is the beginning. This is where it all starts to end.
“Light the fuses,” says Rossa from Claire’s back.
And with that, the Immortal City is rocked by an explosion the likes of which has not been heard since the End of the World. The children cover their ears. Some close their eyes. But the anticipation of what lies on the other side of the fifth wall heightens everyone’s senses. The smoke slowly clears and before them is a new way. The sixth ring. A new world.