Lark Ascending (20 page)

“What?” My heartbeat pounded in my ears.

“People have a natural reserve of the Resource within them. It keeps them human, keeps them alive. If they were left to the void there'd be time. Days, weeks, even, before they became shadows.”

“But we're not natural,” I whispered, staring. “Everyone here has been harvested.”

“Harvested to the point of nothingness. That cushion of time—we've destroyed that, with our machines in the Institute. The second the Wall fails—and it
will
fail—everyone in this city will become a shadow, hungry and mindless and gone forever. Me, Caesar, Gloriette, Tamren, your parents, every single living soul in this city. Everyone except you.”

“And Eve.”

Kris lifted a shaking hand to push his hair back from his face. “That had occurred to me too.”

It was too easy to see the Wall gone, only the metal framework remaining. To see the buildings around us grow dark, to see the vines growing over the places where I'd played, the school where I learned my history. Too easy to see shadows around each corner, pouring out of the tunnels, lurking in the darkened halls of the Institute.

“So you understand now.” Kris's voice was like lead, as heavy and cold and as unmovable. “Why the architects are doing what they're doing.”

“Murdering dozens, maybe hundreds, of innocent people?”

“To save thousands.”

My eyes burned, my skin crawling. “That doesn't make it right.”

“It doesn't?” Kris's grief and his pain were like knives. I never wanted to see him like this. I wished I could turn back time and make him once again the cheerful, wry companion who watched me while I pretended not to notice. “What would you have them do instead? Let us all die?”

“Talk to us!” I burst out, my voice tearing like a sob. “There has to be—”

“It's too late.” Kris tilted his head back, looking up at the thin, shimmering membrane that was all that stood between us and the darkness. “It's over. It's us or them, and we don't stand a chance.”

I reached out to take his hand, to stop its shaking with my own. “You're calling the Institute ‘them.' You never did that before.”

“Some part of me always thought I could go back.” Kris looked down at my hand around his as if confused to find it there. “But that's over now too.” He took a deep breath. “I can't ever go home.”

I swallowed hard. “Then you and I finally have something in common.”

In time, I was able to get Kris on his feet again. He was heavier than he looked, solid despite his lanky frame, and he leaned hard enough on me to make me stagger. But I had to get him back to the Hub so that I could find Eve and Caesar and figure out what to do next. If I could just get Eve, or whatever was left of her, to the Institute, maybe I could show them that what happened was an accident. That we hadn't intended to declare war, and that we did want to talk.

Some of Kris's strength returned as we moved, but I knew that he was going to need days of rest and a few good meals before he was even close to normal. Not that I was certain he'd ever be normal again. His smile was another casualty in the long, long list of things the Institute had taken from me.

The corridors leading to the rebel hideout were empty, but I could hear a commotion echoing through the tunnels. Something was going on at the Hub. I caught Kris's gaze, and he read my intention before I could speak.

“Go,” he said, unwinding his arm from around my neck. “I can make my way back from here.”

I touched his cheek, all I could think to do to show him how sorry I was. I left him there, head bowed, hand pressed to the spot where mine had been, and took off toward the Hub.

I found the rebels all gathered, the crowd as dense and as perturbed as when the alarms had gone off to warn of the pixie attack. For a brief, panicked moment I thought we were under siege again, that the Institute had come back with a counterattack so swift we had no chance of winning. But then I realized that the agitation wasn't panic—it was celebration.

The sea of people was alive with cheers, dancing, people waving rags and brooms and bits of detritus in the air like flags. I could see Caesar across the crowd, up on the table-turned-dais, though it was Asher next to him roaring at the crowd, egging them on. There was no sign of Eve. Caesar looked about ready to drop, but he was smiling a grim sort of smile. He was
happy
about whatever had happened.

Fury seized me, and I fought my way through the crowd until I reached the dais. “What are you
doing
?” I screamed over the noise. Caesar heard and dropped his eyes, then started as he saw me. He shouted something in Asher's ear, then dropped down off the table. He grabbed my upper arm and started hauling me back toward the office, his limp dragging me off-balance.

He shoved me into the room and followed after, slamming the door behind him. “The hell are you thinking?” he hissed. “This is the first good news we've had, they need this for morale.”

“Good news?” I shouted. “This has ruined our chances of talking to them and finding some sort of common ground.”

“Who cares?” Caesar shouted back. “They won't soon forget that we're not powerless, and—”

My jaw fell open, shock and horror sweeping through my body. “You
meant
for this to happen? You did this on
purpose?”

Caesar scowled at me. “You stroll in here and start telling us all what to do, trying to convince me to give it all up the moment we finally have a weapon, something to use against them—”

“Eve's not a weapon!” I cried. “She's a person. She's been used for years, decades even, and now you're just continuing to use her. Is she even alive after that explosion?”

“She wants this too,” Caesar roared. “And she's fine. She needs to vent the magic as much as we need her as a weapon. Why do you care? A few more strikes like that and we can win this thing!”

“
Kris was in there,
” I retorted. “You sent him in there!”

Caesar's jaw hardened. “A necessary casualty,” he said, voice lowering.

The fury building inside me snapped. “You have no idea that he's the one who saved your life, do you?” My voice cracked, whiplike, slashing at that core of arrogance and self-assurance that propelled my brother forward. “He did the same for me. He's the one who arranged for you to escape the Institute. He's the reason you're not dead. And you sent him in there to die.”

The sudden silence was deafening. Caesar gazed at me, impassive beneath his eye patch and his beard, impossible to read. But when he spoke, his voice betrayed him. “It doesn't matter,” he rasped, voice breaking. “I'm sorry about your friend. But we had to do it. We had to strike before they got wind of our plans.”

My stomach twisted, sick and empty. And there'd be no more food, not after I'd wasted the day searching for nothing more than a false hope planted there to get me out of the way. “Kris isn't dead,” I said dully. “They tried to kill him, but I got to him before they could.”

Caesar's visible eye widened, flashing with hot relief before he closed it, turning away. “Well done, little sister.”

I stared at his back, thinking of the knife in my boot, of how easy it'd be to draw it. The white-hot anger swept through, building on my fury at Gloriette. The urge to strike, at anyone, at both sides, left me weak-kneed with exhaustion trying to fight it.

“Kris was right,” I whispered. “It is over, all hope of salvaging this.”

“There never was any hope,” Caesar muttered.

“There was, before you destroyed it.” I sank down on the edge of a packing crate, no longer possessing the willpower to stay standing. “Today the war started.”

Oren was waiting for me when I left Caesar's office. Nix hovered nearby but declined to give its usual trill of greeting. It looked tired, limping through the air until it could drop down heavily onto my shoulder and crawl over to slump against my neck. The pixie had been searching for Oren all day.

I wanted to summon some kind of anger or agitation at Oren for his abandonment of me, but one look at his face sent all my fury crumbling away, leaving me weak-kneed with exhaustion. He reached out, and I stumbled forward until I could lean against him and let him wrap his arms around me.

“Where've you been?” My voice was muffled against his shirt.

“I had to think,” he murmured into my hair. “This changes my whole life. I couldn't just—I had to process.”

I stared at him. “It changes my life too, you know.”

Oren didn't respond immediately, and I could see something behind the pale blue eyes that I didn't recognize. Fear, confusion, doubt; something darker lurked there, something he wasn't sharing with me. I longed to ask, but after a moment he squeezed me, tight enough to make my blood sing. I could push him later to tell me what was going on. For now I could just close my eyes and revel in the fact that my cheek was touching his neck and it didn't burn with magic.

His touch invited me to stay that way forever, standing in the hallway outside my brother's office. The longer I stayed, the harder it was to move, like I was slowly turning to iron like the apple trees to the west. Then condensation dripped down from the ceiling, splattering against the crown of my head. I pulled back reluctantly.

“Kris was right about Eve.” My mouth tasted like ashes, choking on the words. “I know she helped you, but she's dangerous. She let my brother use her as a weapon. And she's unstable.”

Oren's expression didn't shift, but something behind his gaze hardened. “Then that's your brother's fault, not Eve's.”

“Please don't fight me on this,” I whispered. “If you trust me, you'll be on my side.”

“There aren't two sides,” he protested. “We're all on the same side in this war.”

War.
I swallowed. He was right, it was war now. And if it was us against the machines, we'd need the strongest weapon we had. We'd need to find a way to control Eve.

“No matter what,” he went on, voice dropping to a whisper to match mine, “I'm on your side. Always. If you decided to destroy the world, I'd stand next to you while you did it. You know that, right?”

Mouth dry, palms sweating, I could only nod. “I'm going to go talk to her,” I said. “Will you come?”

Oren just looked at me, shaking his head. His face was oddly pale, despite the thick gold glow of the magic lanterns. “I—no. I'll go train, I need to be alone for a while.”

But you were alone all day,
I wanted to scream at him. I wished I could keep him here until he told me what was wrong. But Oren was the last person on earth anyone could force to talk when he didn't want to. So I swallowed my frustration and nodded. “When you're ready, I'm here.”

Oren vanished down the hallway, but not before shooting me a look that shattered my balance. He wasn't one to speak his feelings, but now and then he wore them plain for all to see. Or for me to see, at any rate. Heart pounding, I stood there for long moments before I gathered my composure enough to turn around and head the opposite direction—toward Eve.

•  •  •

She was waiting for me. She'd sensed I was coming, and when I knocked on her door I found it standing ajar.

The bond we'd formed while connected to the Machine came and went, but she was better at reading it than I was. I had only gathered scattered thoughts, half-formed images. A tower by the sea with a light high in its eaves. Small, mathematically perfect shells, something I didn't even have a name for outside her memory. She'd lived by the ocean. The images were calming, serene, and I took heart in that. Eve could be reasoned with, even if Caesar had convinced her that war was our only choice.

“Hello, sister,” she greeted me. She was seated on the floor, despite the crates my brother had left to serve as seats. “Join me.”

I fought the urge to remain standing and sank down onto the floor. I instantly felt the chill of the stone, even through the layered rugs there meant to keep out the cold and damp. “Are you okay?”

Eve smiled at me. “You are so thoughtful. I'm fine. I feel better than ever.”

Kris was right, then. The power built up inside her to the point where releasing it was a relief. I scanned her features, noting that her skin glowed a little less, her eyes were a little more focused. “If I'd done something like that, I'd be in bed recovering for a week.”

“I doubt that,” replied Eve, her eyes on mine, a faint hint of amusement there. She so rarely even seemed human to me that I wanted to seize on that little flicker, draw it out.

“Well, maybe not,” I agreed. The Iron Wood stood as a testament to that. “But I wouldn't feel great.”

Eve tilted her head to one side, then the other, testing the muscles in her neck. “Your brother is happy.”

I swallowed. She knew already what I wanted to talk to her about. “That's why I'm here. I know that Caesar rescued you, and you're grateful. I would be too. But—” I hesitated, the idea of telling this woman who was at least forty years my senior what to do leaving my mouth dry. It didn't help that she looked no older than me. “But don't leave one kind of slavery just to enter into another.”

Eve's gaze never left my face, her eyes flickering over my features, my posture, my clothes; a scrutiny that made the hairs on my arms lift in embarrassment. I braced for the censure I knew was coming. “What do you know of slavery?” she said, finally. Her voice was gentle, though, and if there was any criticism in it, I could not detect it.

“Nothing to what you know,” I replied instantly. “But my brother is wrong. And I just don't want you going along with him just because he helped you.”

Eve was silent for a time, still, calm. I could almost hear the gentle whisper of the surf, as though she was remembering home. Then she rose to her feet with the swift agility of someone my age and crossed the room. She had no belongings, but there hung on the wall a scrap of shattered mirror. I knew my brother had placed it there, trying in some way to make this feel like a home for Eve. She gazed into it, but from my angle on the floor I could not see her face.