Lark Ascending (4 page)

We kept to the circumference of the Wall, trusting that the density of the ruins there would keep the shadows at bay. They preferred the wilderness for hunting, largely giving the remains of the city a wide berth, the same way they did the Iron Wood. The afternoon sunlight dazzled my eyes, playing tricks on me, making me imagine I saw movement at every step. In broad daylight there was nowhere to hide except in the buildings, and I'd been trapped in a building with a family of shadows before. It wasn't an experience I wanted to repeat if I could possibly avoid it.

I could sense them now, around the edges of my range. Dark pits of nothingness yawning hungrily, only minutes behind us. I could feel eight distinct shadows—either Oren had estimated wrong, or others had joined in the chase.

Somewhere behind us, a desperate, lonely howl rose over the sound of our harsh breathing and ragged footsteps.

“We'll have to find a place to hole up, barricade them out,” Oren blurted. “Lark?”

I cast my power out in a net, trying to get a feel for the shape of the city before me. “There—a basement in the last building on the right in the next block. It's clear of debris.”

Oren put on a fresh burst of speed, leaving me and Kris in his wake. If fear and adrenaline weren't keeping me focused, I could have stopped just to watch him run—long, even strides that ate up the ground at an astonishing rate. He reached the building and slammed into the door—it groaned but didn't give way. Kris and I kept running as Oren lowered his shoulder and tried again, and again, with no luck.

I could hear the shadows now, their snarling voices so distinct I felt I'd be able to see them if I turned. We skidded to a halt, and Kris grabbed at Oren's arm as he started to make another run at the door.

“Together,” gasped Kris, winded. But Oren understood and nodded, wasting no time on bravado. In unison this time they charged the door, and under their combined weight, the whole thing finally gave way at the hinges and crashed inward.

Oren went sprawling but Kris kept his balance and then reached down to drag Oren to his feet. I broke into a jog again and found the door to the basement. This one was unlocked, and I breathed a soft moan of relief. We piled through it and then locked it behind us with a loud, solid clank of iron deadbolts.

We half staggered down the stairs in pitch-blackness, and I nearly fell when I reached the unexpected end of the steps. I didn't want to risk a light, so I felt my way forward. From the feel of the air, cold and damp, it was a concrete basement, good for little more than storage. My fingers encountered a brick pillar, and I let myself slide to the ground, still gasping for air. For all Oren's training as we traveled south, nothing could prepare me for running for my life from the shadows again.

A hand touched my knee, and I reached out. As his fingers curled around mine, I recognized the touch—Oren. Strong, callused fingers. Steady, despite the headlong flight we'd just taken. Though his touch caused an answering, unpleasant tingle of magic draining through my arm, I didn't pull away. Even that was better than nothing in this darkness. Footsteps approaching told me where Kris was, and he dropped to the ground beside us, his legs pressing against my feet. Then, finally, a tiny buzzing form lurched out of the darkness and buried itself beneath the curtain of my hair.

We were all here.

Over the harsh sounds of breathing and the occasional scrape of clothes on stone, I could hear heavy footfalls overhead. The shadows had found the building.

Oren's fingers tightened through mine. I was half afraid Kris would reach for me too, but he didn't, staying where he was, pressed up against my legs. I heard him swallow, though, the sound audible in the echoing blackness.

A howl lanced the silence from above—first one, then more and more joined it in a dreadful, chilling parody of a chorus. Then, a thud—and another, and another. They'd found the door.

I closed my eyes, gathering in my power. The blast from the Wall had shaken me, but it hadn't drained me—it was all there, just roiling and impossible to control. Still, I didn't need control right now. I just needed power. If the shadows got through that door, I was the only thing that would save Oren and Kris. If the shadows got through, I'd rip them apart.

More thumps and howls echoed down, making us flinch with every noise. A terrible screeching lashed my eardrums as one of them tried to claw its way in, fingernails raking down the metal door. I ground my teeth against the sound until they ached.

The seconds dragged on into minutes, and the minutes dragged into measureless hours. In the darkness, touch was all we had—I could feel every movement Kris made, pressed against my legs, and Oren's hand remained warm and strong wrapped around mine. Nix made what I could only hope it intended as soothing sounds, a low droning buzz of its mechanisms—but I suspected it was only trying to soothe itself. I focused on the absurdity of a machine feeling fear and tried not to think about the bolts upstairs giving way just a little more with each time the shadows threw themselves against it.

Then the pounding stopped so abruptly that my ears rang, and I thought the pounding of my heart would fill the entire room. Ears straining, I heard a few shuffling sounds, some heavy footsteps, a dragging sound. Somehow it was even worse than the pounding.

“What are they doing?” Kris's voice was not even a whisper, only a breath.

I half expected Oren to shush him, but instead Oren replied in a low voice. “Waiting.”

“We should stay quiet,” I whispered.

“They know we're here.” Oren took a long, deep breath. “They'll have to leave come morning to find something else to hunt, but for now, they'll try to wait us out.”

“Morning.” I let out a breath I didn't know I was holding. “We can last until then.” I felt Oren's hand relaxing around mine.

Kris swallowed audibly again and moved, the fabric of his clothes scraping against the stone. “Let's not do that again,” he suggested, voice finding a little more strength.

“I don't understand what they're even doing here.” I leaned back until my head rested on the stone pillar behind me. “It's a city—they should be out in the countryside. The shadows hate it in the ruins.”

Oren grunted agreement. Kris said nothing, but I could feel him tense, his body going rigid at my side.

“Kris,” I whispered, “what is it?”

“It's—I think I know why they're here,” he said. His voice sounded weak, sick. “The Institute doesn't have the resources to keep prisoners, not with half the city against them.”

A slow dread began to build somewhere inside me as part of me began to understand before the rest of me was willing to even consider what he was saying. “Then what—”

“She Adjusts them.” Kris swallowed. “Only there's no ceremony, no farewell. It's not voluntary anymore. Whenever they catch a rebel, Gloriette forces them through the Wall.”

I felt the darkness spinning around me, horror robbing me of breath.

“I think these shadows are—I think they're our people.” Kris's voice cut through the darkness. “And I think some part of them is still trying to find a way home.”

The night came and went, though only Nix's internal clock alerted us that it was day again. I had dozed now and then, my consciousness dotted with strange dreams of things I'd never done and places I'd never been. I tried to shake them, but the feeling of familiarity lingered even as I stretched out my cramped limbs.

We let Oren unbar the door with his ear pressed against it, listening for any sounds that might indicate we were still being hunted. But his prediction proved correct—sometime in the night, the shadows had moved off in search of easier prey, too hungry to wait forever.

The light stabbed against my eyes as we shuffled out into the morning, leaving the dark basement behind. The fresh air was cold with lingering winter, but far sweeter than the fear-soaked atmosphere belowground. The Wall was just beyond the far edge of the street, bisecting a row of town-houses. Its dull gleam reflected little of the morning's dim light, giving it a monstrous sort of immovability as it squatted in front of us.

“How's your magic?” Oren asked, stretching his arms over his head as he came up beside me.

“Better,” I replied, and though my mouth opened as if to continue, no words came out.

My tongue felt heavy and unresponsive. Though I'd left my more immediate fears of being chased down and attacked behind in the basement, the dawn had brought on an entirely new set. Kris had painted an unimaginable picture of my home. No matter what, I'd thought I was coming home to what I'd always known, even if it wasn't necessarily what I longed for anymore. It'd be familiar, if nothing else. Comforting.

But now there was no telling what I'd find on the other side of the Wall.

Oren was used to chaos. He'd grown up in it, thrived in it. He didn't understand why even now I still gravitated toward rules and order and certainty. I wished I could explain to him why the idea of my city, my steadfast, ever-fixed city, falling into ruin was so terrifying.

And why the thought of letting him see me scared, after everything we'd been through, was so hard.

I could feel Oren's eyes on me as he waited for me to gather my thoughts. He never pushed, always sure I'd speak when I was ready. The product of having lived so many years alone, I guessed. But as the seconds dragged on and the weight of everything I couldn't quite say aloud pressed in, Oren finally took a slow, thoughtful breath. “I'm going to do a quick circuit,” he said. “Make sure nothing's waiting for us out there.”

I swallowed hard, locating my voice. “Be careful,” I whispered. When I turned he was already gone, swallowed by the ruins.

I retraced my steps back toward the building where we'd spent the night until I could grab my pack. Kris and Nix were playing some kind of game that my eyes struggled to follow. Kris was passing a ration chit back and forth between his hands, hiding it, using misdirection. Nix was far better at tracking the chit's movement than I was, but even the pixie was fooled now and then.

“You're getting sloppy,” Kris accused the machine, laughing.

“The mechanism that allows me to see was of your design,”
Nix retorted with a furious buzz, swarming over to Kris's fist to pry it open and search for the chit inside.

“Who would've guessed you'd end up so stuffy,” muttered Kris before looking up and catching me watching them. “All clear?”

“Oren's checking.” I watched as Nix seized the ration chit and Kris's hand went flat, allowing the pixie to examine the chit, turning it over and over in its little legs, clicking in triumph. “What're you doing?”

“An old calibration exercise,” Kris said, letting his hand fall as Nix buzzed off, bobbing and weaving under the extra weight of the coin as if drunk. “PX—er, Nix, I guess—was the first pixie model to have eyes. Or, rather, sensors able to pick up the visible light spectrum, instead of just magic.”

I knew that the other pixies I'd seen were blind except for their magic sensors, but I hadn't realized Nix was the
only
pixie to be able to see. “And you invented that?” I asked curiously, watching as Nix dropped onto a log and crouched over the coin like a feral animal guarding a kill.

“I had help,” Kris replied, but the pride in his voice betrayed him. He flashed me a smile, and for the strangest instant I was back in the Institute, blushing because he'd seen me single-handedly eat an entire watermelon. “But mostly, yeah.”

I caught Nix's eye and gave a little jerk of my chin. For an instant I thought it might rebel, but after giving the ration chit a definitive kick with one of its legs, Nix abandoned it and darted over to my shoulder, sliding in against my neck under my hair. I couldn't have admitted it aloud, but the familiar metal weight of its body against my neck was a comfort. Watching it play—or calibrate—with Kris made my stomach twist with unexpected jealousy.

“How'd you learn to do that?” I asked Kris, settling my pack over my shoulders carefully so as not to dislodge Nix.

“Invent eyes?” Kris's own store of supplies was nearly gone, but we'd transferred some of our gear over so he could share the load.

“All of it.” I could hear the complex symphony of Nix's mechanisms whirring away below my ear and knew it was listening to me. “Most of the time Nix seems more like magic than machine.”

“That's because I am quite extraordinary,”
Nix said drily, thrumming its wings against my neck.

“Hush,” I muttered.

I could feel Kris's eyes on me, but when I glanced over he'd dropped his gaze to the broken path we were following. “I was born an architect,” he said simply. “It's in my blood.”

I thought of his soft hands, the clinical neatness of his clothes when I knew him in the Institute, the flawless attention to every detail. Even now, the way he was walking, each pace measured and falling in pattern on the shattered cobbles so that his heels touched every third stone—this was the mind that had come up with the entire plan to manipulate me into locating the Iron Wood.

I found myself staring, as though trying to see the mechanisms in Kris's head, piece them apart the way he could piece apart Nix. I was so distracted that I didn't even notice when he returned my stare and slowed his steps. It wasn't until he came to a halt that I found his eyes on mine.

“We're raised to believe our blood makes us superior.” Kris's voice was quiet, thoughtful. “We're direct descendants of the architects who built the city, who created the Wall. We're raised to believe we're the reason the city didn't fall like the rest of the world during the Wars.”

“And yet you left,” I pointed out. “Why?”

“I guess I realized that blood isn't everything.”