In a rounded grotto were six enormous metal engines. Dozens of automatons and heat-shielded people scuttled about the furnaces, tossing in aethecite, cleaning, analyzing control panels. It was an intricate dance of chemistry and mechanics well out of Lojen’s knowledge base.
“This is where we split.”
“You sure about this, Ru? I don’t think this is a good idea.”
“It has to be this way. Otherwise, we won’t hit all the targets.”
“Yeah, even the ones I don’t know about,” Lojen muttered. Emre had pulled Ruane aside while they were leaving the safehouse and whispered something into her earhole. About a task she said nothing about to him.
Ruane frowned. “Not a big deal, brother.”
“Then why not tell me?”
“You’ve got enough to worry about with finding Father’s horns and the Seal. What Emre wants is a small thing. Not for you to worry.”
“You’re my sister. Of course, I’m going to worry.”
“Aw, isn’t that special?” Ruane punched him in the arm. Then her face softened. “Be safe, Scurred Hatch. And don’t forget the Hammer.”
He hugged her. “If any trouble comes your way, run. Don’t fight, Ru. I’m not joking. Just run.”
She patted his arm. “Talk for yourself. I don’t run and you know that.”
Lojen snorted. “Justice go with you.”
“Justice go with you,” she repeated.
And then she pushed away, hopping down from the tunnel without a sound. She raced down the grated gangplank and snaked around one of the aethecite engines just in time to avoid being seen by an automaton slinking by full of chirps and beeps.
Be safe, Ru.
XXIX
Ashe
A SOFT FLICKER, like the caress of a feather touching her cheek, woke Ashe, but she wasn’t truly awake.
Yet she wasn’t in the bedroom anymore, but instead in a square room. There was an odd sort of lighting to it, a non-light. And she was alone, no Wren. Mist rolled in swells along the ground that wasn’t ground. She searched for an exit but found none.
It had to be a dream.
Then the walls oscillated. A soft intensity from the non-light. She knew the feeling now. Recognition bowling in.
Somehow, she was in the Meadows. Without her calling it through aetheurgy. Without being truly awake.
A door appeared where there wasn’t one a moment ago. She made for it; the mist undulated before her. It opened with the barest of touches, the hall beyond was empty and alight in the non-light. A second door appeared at the end of the seesawing hall, this one made of glass, sheer, flat, and clear. A prism of light flowed through a rainbow. As she put her hand out to push the door open, her palm went right through.
“What?”
Another room yawned to her, not empty like the others. Wasn’t silent, wasn’t bare. An erratic wailing, soft and constant, a cacophony of words spoken in languages known and not. An eddy of spirits, souls of the dead gamboled the expanse of the void.
“Zenith’s cock.”
There, across from her, a man sat upon a grand-looking throne constructed of gemstone. Of sapphire, emerald, peridot, and garnet. A brilliance in battle. Behind the throne hung a massive crystal made of diamond. It was taller than the throne by at least four times. Its facets reflected the non-light.
Aged white hair cascaded down the elfirish man’s broad shoulders, and covered an emaciated form that was unclothed down to his waist. Strong of jaw, covered in a flecked white beard. Flesh as pale as a moonlit night, clear and real, not like the spirits of the dead meandering around the non-room. A diamond pendant in the shape of an eye hung around his neck. The man’s eyes were all white, including his pupils.
He stood, an air of confidence and wisdom about him. His aura blazed with untold knowledge, as well as unfathomable pain. “Godsblood. Long has it been since I saw you last.”
“Who are you?”
“I am Canlon Carr.” He purled his fingers, the wails in the Meadows briefly rose to a fever pitch, the mist a whirligig. A pair of chairs materialized. “Come, sit with me.”
“You’re… the Last Godsking?”
The man sat, a reassuring hand held out, beckoning her all would be well. Reluctantly and cautiously, Ashe slid into the chair. Silence held for a moment.
“You’ve questions, I know,” the man started, “but there will be more time for us to speak of this. At present, a pressing need awaits you. A journey ahead.”
“To Kalderim?”
“No, child of Nightingale. Eminence.”
Eminence?
A thousand questions raced through her mind. Questions of aether. Of her connection to the mist. Of Lu Har and Solanine. Of Emre Benld. Of the pulmo killing her. Of her past.
