The Unnaturalists

CHAPTER 6

The need for the stone came sooner than Syrus could have imagined.

Two nights after his encounter with the Architects, he settled gratefully into the nest of old quilts between uncles, aunts, and cousins. Granny Reed was at the rusting potbelly stove, feeding it carefully gathered wood and pony dung. As it often did when winter approached, the passenger car smelled of bodies that hadn’t been washed in a while. But Syrus didn’t mind so long as everyone was warm.

The summoning stone was secure in an inner pocket of his jacket and he patted its hard circle one more time just to be sure it was there. In a family of pickpockets, he’d be an absolute idiot to keep the stone where it would be easy for one of his cousins to steal it. He hadn’t told anyone about his encounter for just that reason. He was hoping to be able to tell Granny when all the others weren’t around; he just hadn’t found a chance yet. Perhaps tomorrow.

Evidently, Granny hadn’t told the story of the Manticore’s Heart last night because he heard her say, around her corncob pipe: “It was quite some time ago that a Tinker witch made a bargain with a Scientist from a City in the World Before. He asked her to steal something very powerful for him. And what he asked her to steal was none other than the Heart of Tianlong, the heavenly Dragon that rested on the banks of that river yonder. For it was said that the Heart of Tianlong was a well into the Universe, and if a man held that—well, then he held the power of the Universe in his hand. But only a powerful witch could remove the Heart.

“So, she took the Heart and sold it to the Scientist who in turn used it to bring his City here. And one of the Scientist’s followers called himself Emperor, and his descendants still rule to this day.

“At the time, the Emperor had only one daughter, a Princess named Athena. And Athena was as wise and just as her father wasn’t. She knew that magic is the lifeblood of this world, and she was determined to use her knowledge to keep magic alive.

“In his dungeons, the Emperor experimented on Elementals, stealing the secrets of their magic when he could. He had discovered that when he used their magic in conjunction with Tianlong’s Heart that his mortal life could be extended. But not indefinitely. Occasionally, he needed to recharge the Heart, so to speak. That didn’t satisfy him, though. He wanted a direct way to absorb the Elementals’ power and live forever. And so he tortured and maimed and killed the Elementals in service of that desire.

“The Princess came to understand the truth of her father’s evil, for she visited the dungeons and a Manticore, who was near death, told her what had happened. And that night, when the Tower was very quiet, the Princess snuck into her father’s secret cabinet, stole the Heart from where he kept it, and fitted it into the Manticore’s chest to help her live. She released the Manticore and freed magic back into the world where it belongs. She fled with the Manticore and a guard who had fallen in love with her, but eventually her father caught her and marched her off to the Creeping Waste to her death.

“And that, my dears,” Granny said, looking around, “is why we must be ever-vigilant and protect the Manticore at all costs. For the Empress is doing this very thing again, I guarantee it. That’s why all the Elementals have been disappearing and why the Creeping Waste keeps growing. She’ll make sure there will be no one to aid us this time. We must stay here and ensure that magic survives. Protect the Manticore and protect us all.”

There were murmurs of assent that soon fell into whispers and snatches of swaddlesongs. Granny kept the stove open a long time, smoking and staring into the flames.

“But Nainai, what happened to Tianlong?” Syrus asked.

Granny looked at him, and it was almost as though her face was wreathed in fire. “Tianlong still sleeps by the river, and there is a hole where his Heart should be. The Manticore is all that stands between us and the Waste.”

Syrus fell asleep thinking about Granny’s story. It took a long while to drift off. Not only did his thoughts chase around like foxes in a rabbit pen, but the new baby was fussy. He’d grown used to such things, but tonight the baby was as loud as his thoughts.

Nainai often read his face and said he would “change the world.” But Syrus wondered how. Certainly, his people thought him special for his gifts. But how could these gifts be used to protect the Manticore and his people? Maybe the Architect he’d met today would open the way. He patted his breast pocket before his thoughts drained away into warm darkness.

The last thing he saw was Granny’s outline in front of the stove, smoke drifting from her pipe. He didn’t feel the little fingers that slipped down toward his chest, nor did he hear the hushed giggle as his cousin Amalthea worked the stone from his secret pocket and tiptoed back to her place.

Three hours later, when the doors splintered inward and the Raven Guard stormed in, Syrus’s searching fingers met with nothing but string, lint, and the jade toad he had stolen from the girl in the carriage.

The Guard had been in the Imperial service since the first Emperor, John Vaunt, had created them. No one knew how the Emperor had made them—no one dared question—but they were obviously the work of some dark, twisted magic. Though the Guard spoke and moved as humans did in their rusting suits of armor, they had the heads of Ravens and, it was rumored, communicated secretly with their winged cousins that patrolled the skies around the Empress’s Tower. The Guard were killing machines, powerful and quick and utterly devoid of emotion.

The armored creatures moved through the train car, shaking people out of their quilts. They either shoved the Tinkers toward their compatriots at one end of the car or skewered them. It was only when the blood started to flow that the screaming began. Syrus watched in horror as his cousin Amalthea was pierced and tossed aside while her mother wailed.

Wicked dancing shadows lit the broken panes and dark stains that spread among the quilts on the floor. Granny Reed stood and thrust a rolled blanket into the stove. She lunged toward the nearest Guard, trying to set his feathered head afire, but he turned his long pike on her before she reached him, slitting a dark line from chest to navel. He shoved her body aside, then stamped out the flaming quilt with an armored foot.

“Nainai,” Syrus breathed. He was too shocked to yell. He patted his chest all over again for the summoning stone, but the toad mocked him.

“More will die, unless those eligible for Refinery work come quietly with us,” one of the Guards said in his spiritless voice.

Someone spat. Otherwise, all Syrus heard was labored breathing and hushed weeping.

“Syrus,” his Uncle Gen whispered. “Get out of here before they take you or kill you—do you understand?”

Syrus was about to protest, but then saw the glint of a curved dagger under his uncle’s sleeve. Most Tinkers slept with their weapons outside their doors; it was too dangerous to have weapons among a nest of children and babies and grandmothers. But when Syrus thought of how easily the Guard had entered and slain so many before they’d even had a chance to wake, he wished with all his might he’d kept his dagger and dart pipe.

His uncle shook his wrist gently. “Do you understand?” he repeated.

Syrus nodded.

“Out that window there,” Uncle Gen said, tilting his head toward it. “And go warn the others if they’ve not already been captured. There hasn’t been a Cull like this since your parents were taken. We’ve gotten soft.”

“But—” Syrus started to say.

The Raven Guard waded toward them.

“Now!” his uncle hissed.

Syrus slithered toward the wall. Hoping none of the Guard would notice, he tugged at the end of a leather flap that had been loosely nailed over a broken window.

His hopes were quickly dashed when a blast of energy sizzled right next to his hand. The only fortunate thing about it was that it blew the leather clean off the window.

“Go now!” Uncle Gen shouted. Syrus saw his uncle throw his dagger, even as a blast of energy took him down. Syrus dove through the window, rolling on the hard, cold ground. As he crouched by a rusting wheel, he realized the Guard had used their pikes merely for effect. Their real weapons were the thunderbusses.

He ran to the next train car and the next, thankful each time that they were empty. The others must have