As we head down again, I can feel my focus slipping. I think clearest with a single goal. Calea muddies all that. I need to protect her. I want to remove her from this place. But she needs her limbs, so I’m forced to either protect her physically or aid her in the way she needs most, which is repairing her arm and leg.
Worse, she’s already convinced herself she’s heading to the Academy not for intensely personal reasons but to protect scientific property. In another twenty minutes, she’ll say she’s doing it for the good of the city.
My body drags. Adrenaline drove me to the eighteenth floor, pushed me to the Column, but now the immediate danger has passed. I feel empty.
“Faster, Bron. I want to be away from all these people.”
Faster, Bron. New goal–the Academy, before the citizens mob the Towers, before the last spoke collapses, before the batteries are stolen. To protect Calea, I must repair her. That is enough for now.
I move quickly, nearly dragging Calea along, narrowly avoiding lifting her off the ground. I no longer want to speak with the others. They will present other options, additional needs.
I’ve chosen Calea. I will not choose another.
We enter the main hall. It’s a disaster. We take roundabout passages, mostly staying on level ground. Twice we navigate heaps of broken masonry, Calea stubbornly at my side, cursing beneath her breath. I stop once to move debris and dig a path through. When we finally reach the spoke and see the sky again, it is early evening.
I set Calea against the decorative wrought iron that acts as a barrier between the road leading to the Academy and the Well below. Calea is pale and can hardly catch her breath. Her injuries are superficial, but her body has been pushed beyond its normal limits. I watch her discreetly as I study the road before us. She is thin, almost frail. I have always thought her weaker than she presented herself, but now she looks broken, like a doll thrown in a corner. “We’ll keep moving after a moment’s rest,” I say. She will not want me to think her weak, but I will delay for more than a moment.
The road itself, two lanes plus wide avenues for walking on either side, seems sturdy enough. Ahead I can see some gaps, but I think we will manage if we keep an eye out. The trees lining the avenues are half bare, green trees with naked branches. The land is harsh away from the wells, verdant within its reach. What happens now?
I can see most of the Towers, too, or what is left of them. Three have completely collapsed. Tower Six stands nearly intact. Tower Five leans precariously over the Well, rooms open to the pit below.
It is hard to comprehend what has happened. I examine each Tower in turn, thoughtless and overwhelmed.
I become aware that Calea is crying. I do not look, to look would be cruel, but my eyes are drawn in that direction. It is then I finally see what I should have seen at first sight.
I had not even thought to look into the Well. It is below and our path is above. Now I step to the railing and stare into the gaping pit. It is huge, immensely deep, more than two miles end to end, and it is empty.
The sight is shocking. All my life, I have seen the shifting colors of magic as they hummed beneath the Wheel. Nothing remains. It is hollowed out. The contrast strikes me cold. And yet, I do not understand what it means. I have lost nothing. It is an emptiness in the landscape, but it has not removed a thing from my life.
But Calea’s life has been drained out.
I glance at her. I am afraid of what she might do, and I want somehow to connect with her. She is sobbing, eyes closed, hand pressed against her lips, trying to keep the sounds from escaping.
“Let’s keep moving.” It’s not what I want to say. It’s the only thing I can say.
She stands slowly, pulling herself up with her one arm, balancing on her one foot. I do not help her. She waits a long time, hand clenched on the railing, trying to breath. I give her time.
“Are you ready?”
“Of course.” She manages to control her voice. “Are you going to help me or not?”
I support her once again and lead her forward. We take to the center of the road, so as to avoid the barren depths of the Well. And we walk.
About midway to the Academy, the spoke starts to show evidence of fractures. I step carefully, watching the cracks. The avenues along the edges fall away for a time, first one side, then the other, the road like a garment with moth-eaten edges. I see the break long before we reach it, but even with time to consider, I have no plan to get across. The road disappears for twelve feet or more, except for girders exposed by the blast and a few thin walkways of unsupported concrete.
“We are not turning back,” she says. I support her almost entirely by my own strength. She has nothing left.
“We aren’t.”
There is no good way to do this. “Calea, I need you to hang on to my back. Can you do that?”
“How am I supposed to do that?”
“Tightly.”
That gets a little smile from her. She must be exhausted. “All right. I’ll hang on if you promise not to fall.”
“Deal.”
I choose the girder that seems the sturdiest. That’s a guess at best. The girder runs a few feet below the surface of the road. I lower Calea onto her belly and climb down onto the girder. It is barely wider than my shoulders. “Lay your arm over my chest. I’ll grab it and keep you leveraged.”
“You’ll pull my arm out of socket. Here, this’ll work.”
She wraps her arm around my neck, my throat in the crook of her elbow. It’s suspiciously like a choke hold.
“Can you hold tight?”
“I’ll hold. Now go.”
I bend forward, easing her off the road and onto my back as smoothly as possible. I stare at the metal beneath my feet, not into the abyss below. She settles. I raise up, finding my balance. It is difficult to breath with her weight pulling down on my esophagus.
I take my first step. I waver a moment, wait, rediscover my center. Another step. Slow breathing. The wind picks up and I stop. Another step.
“Hurry,” Calea says.
“Don’t look down.”
“Stop talking and go!” she shouts.
Another step.
Since I woke this morning, everything is another step–just one more step. That’s enough. That’s all that matters. One more step.
I find my rhythm. Only for a moment, at the start, did I allow thoughts of falling. After that, it is only the next step. A step is easy. And after that, only one more. And one more.
I am at the other end. I climb the short ascent, leaning forward to ease the pressure of Calea’s weight. I crawl onto the road, lower myself, and allow Calea to roll off.
“Help me up,” she says. “And stop wheezing. You sound like an asthmatic dog.”
I laugh, or try to. I rub my neck. Not crushed, but it might be bruised. Calea held on very tightly.
We resume our journey. The Academy looms before us, the facade broken to pieces but still hanging on. It is an octagonal building, thickly built, squat. The road is pocked and mangled, but it looks as if it will hold, as long as we are careful. “We’ll be there soon,” I tell her.
“Not soon enough.”
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