Shadowlark

“All the paths lead toward that building,” I continued, forcing myself not to look over at him. The building below was the one I’d seen when we first arrived, the one shaped like a semicircle at the very bottom of the city. “That’s where we’re headed.”

CHAPTER 9

From above, the courtyard of the Central Processing building looked as though it was carpeted with big pieces of fabric. When we first started down the winding walkways toward it, my mind turned to Basil. It was like the area was littered with brightly colored squares of paper, all waiting to be turned into animals or shapes or people with a few deft folds and creases. He always said that every piece of paper had a creature waiting inside it.

Tansy’s words, when I’d told her she had to leave her belongings behind, came flooding back to me. Would you be saying that if it were your pack? If it was Oren’s knife, or your brother’s bird, back there? I slipped my hand into my pocket, feeling the worn edges and folds of the paper bird Basil had made for me before he disappeared.

Oren’s eyes flicked toward me, noting the movement of my hand, but he said nothing. A cloud of flying machines zipped past, and as though they called to it in some undetectable, irresistible way, Nix launched itself from my shoulder and raced after them. Despite the size of the city, though, the pixie always seemed to find its way back to me. I watched it until I could no longer distinguish the glint of its body from the rest and then turned to keep walking.

When we got closer, I realized that the courtyard of the building was a huge marketplace, with tents and stalls scattered around at random. When we reached the bottom of the city it was like descending into a blizzard, only instead of white snow, colors of every shade swirled around us, and instead of the howling wind, voices surrounded us in a cocoon of sound. Vendors hawked their wares, each trying to out-shout their neighbors, while buyers vied for prime spots at the more popular stalls, elbowing each other out of the way. Children and machines were underfoot everywhere. Despite the haphazard placement of the stalls and tents, there was a strangely rhythmic flow to the crowd.

My eyes had trouble tracking everything. I bumped into a knee-high crawling machine that gave such a humanlike squawk of disapproval that I stepped back, apologizing automatically.

“Newcomers to Lethe?” a loud, cheery voice called right by my ear.

I jumped back, colliding with Oren. He grunted in surprise and pain, hands coming up to grab my shoulders and steady me.

A middle-aged woman was leaning out over the edge of her stall’s counter, watching us. I guessed that she was in her mid-forties by the lines around her eyes and her mouth and the grey that shot through her dark hair. Her eyes were a dark grey-blue, small and bright. Focused. Though her face was smiling and easygoing and her body language relaxed, her gaze was sharp. Assessing.

She was waiting for me to reply, but my mind went blank. In the chaos, I couldn’t even remember what she’d asked. “Excuse me?”

“Lethe. You two new here, yeah?” Her voice had a strange, drawling accent, something I’d never heard before.

Lethe. The name of the city? I didn’t recognize it, though something about the name seemed familiar. Oren’s hands were still around my shoulders, the flow of magic between us slightly muffled by fabric. His touch was warm, steadying.

In my city, the idea of a newcomer was impossible—in my city, the inside of the Wall was all there was. Not so here? I cleared my throat, ignoring the stabbing of my heart. “Yes.”

“Travelers?” She gave the word an odd weight, like it was a title.

I fought the urge to glance at Oren and nodded. “Yes, travelers.”

She frowned. “If you Travelers, where your rocks?”

“Rocks?” I felt like the ground was slipping away under my feet.

“Yeah, your crystals.”

Of course. In the wilderness, non-Renewable people would have to carry some sort of power source with them if they traveled from place to place. Crystals stored magical energy. If they could be somehow rigged to dispense that energy at regular intervals, they’d keep a regular person whole for a time. Keep them from becoming a shadow.

“They’re—we, uh, left them at the—”

“They with the rest of your stuff at immigration?”

I nodded wordlessly, grateful that she was all too willing to carry on both sides of the conversation.

The woman’s frown cleared, turning into a broad smile. “Well, why you ain’t said so?” she exclaimed. “Travelers, my bread and butter. You bring anything shiny? Need trade? Give you good price for first pick.”

For a moment I could only stare blankly at her. Then the contents of her booth caught my eye. From the ramshackle wooden frame holding up the lavender fabric hung ropes of chains and pendants, some artistically carved from wood and stone, others fashioned out of bits of old machines. There were stands like miniature trees, branches were coated with rings of all sizes, bearing semiprecious stones and crystals. Carpeting the counter were more pendants, earrings, pins. One pendant fashioned out of old glass circuitry still sparkled faintly with magic to my second sight.

Travelers were some kind of merchant. For a long moment I couldn’t answer, my mind spinning. This meant that there had to be far more cities out there than I’d realized. The woman waited patiently as I struggled to grasp just how wrong about the outside world my city’s architects were. “Shiny,” I echoed. “Um. No. No, we were—”

“Can point you to the right place, tell me what you trade.” The woman was eager. No doubt she’d expect some kind of payment or tip for the information.

“No, we were bringing—” My eyes shifted this way and that, looking for something, anything. Something that wasn’t at one of these stalls. Some place she couldn’t direct us.

Just then Nix flew back in, its flight path wildly erratic from excitement—or alarm.

“Pixies!” I blurted with relief. “We brought pixies, and other machines.” But when Nix drew closer and then dove out of sight into my collar, I realized I’d made a mistake.

“Huh.” The woman grunted her disappointment and straightened. “Been through CeePo?”

“CeePo.” Had I dodged one difficult question only to be caught be another? It was like dancing in the bog, each step pulling me down deeper.

“Central Processing. Everyone goes. Especially when you bring in contraband.”

Ice gripped my heart, sudden and shocking. Contraband. But there were machines everywhere! How could bringing them in be against the law? Nix settled on my shoulder, buzzing alarm.

The woman watched me, mild-faced but sharp-eyed. She didn’t smile, but I could see she knew she’d won.

Oren’s fingers tightened, ready to pull me away. It was always fight or flee with him. I could feel his muscles shifting just from the contact of his hands against my shoulders, and my mind conjured a flash of him fighting his way through these people, these soft city people, as he thought of them. The sheer numbers meant we’d never make it, but it’d be a bloodbath before anyone stopped him.

He took a step back—one hand shifted. I felt it slide down my shoulder blade and down my ribs, and I stiffened—but then his knuckles grazed the skin above the waistband of my pants, and I realized what he was doing. That was where I kept his knife sheathed. My body was between him and the stall owner—she couldn’t see him reaching for a weapon.

“We intended no offense to your laws!” I blurted. Oren’s hand froze, and my mind raced. “We brought them as tribute. A tribute for Prometheus. We’ve only just arrived, we’re trying to get to CeePo.”