The castle would be destroyed the same way he’d accidentally destroyed the temple.
As the strain on the conduits increased, he heard glass crack, metal clank, water and fire collide with each other. He sprinted from the room, through the hallway, down the stairway. One of the bolts on the golden cylinder blew out like a bullet and almost hit him. Steam whistled out the hole. More bolts trembled and blew.
Tahki tried to reach the basement to warn Rye, but the golden cylinder screeched, and a powerful wave of steam knocked him on his back. He scrambled to his feet and watched as the top floor fell, crumbling in front of the door to the basement. He turned and ran from the entryway, dodging falling obsidian and copper pipes and marble, until he was out the front door.
The cold air struck him hard as he loped outside. His head throbbed, and sour bile rose in his throat. He didn’t stop until he heard a tremendous roar, and he turned to watch the black spires of the castle collapse. The obsidian didn’t break apart like normal stone. It shattered, the way a tall vase hitting stone shatters. Each spire dropped one after the other.
Tahki watched, his eyes thick with tears, his heart racing as he prayed Rye would be safe in the basement, that the tunnels would hold against the weight of the castle. The remainder of the castle fell not in a fiery, explosive heap but in a snuffed-out manner, slow and sinking.
And then it caved in. The obsidian, the marble, the golden cylinder, the dining table and stove and other furniture, all sunk. It fell below the dirt, into the basement. Onto the black gates.
Tahki gasped, trembling. The castle buried everything. Rye and Gotem and Dyraien. Steam and dust rose from the pile, and the world fell into a terrible silence.
For a moment, Tahki heard only the sound of the river. The castle had dammed it, and water started to flood in all directions. He ran to the destruction, waded into the water, into the black gunk that covered everything. He didn’t care about drowning, about how the mud sucked at his feet. When the water touched his chin, he turned away and climbed onto a pile of sharp obsidian. It cut his hands, his leg, his chest. He stared into the darkness.
“Rye?” he said. “Rye? Rye!” He screamed until his voice was nothing more than a pitiful wail. He turned left and right. He dug deep through the debris. Sweat and blood and snot fell from his face. “Oh gods,” Tahki whispered. “Please… please… oh gods.”
The pile he sat on started to slide into the water. He scrambled away and used one of the wooden doors to steady himself. There was nothing he could do. The muck was too dense to even begin to sort through. He waded back onto land and collapsed in the dirt. Tears fell down his cheeks. He grabbed his head, dug his fingers into his grimy hair.
He should have stayed with Rye. They should have destroyed the castle together. Or maybe he should have gone home after his encounter with Nii, or he should have told Rye sooner, or he should have written to his father, or… or… or….
Something burst from beneath the water. A massive black shape dragged its body from the wreckage. Tahki tried to stand, fell, tried again, and found his balance. Pooka limped toward him. Her right side looked torn open, like something had taken a huge bite out of her. She panted and shook water from her coat. Something attached itself to her back and side. Not something, somebody. Three bodies clung to her, black grunge covering them. For a second, Tahki pictured Zinc, charred black from the fire, clawing his way out of the chamber.
He shook away the feeling and ran to the cat. “Rye.” He put his arms around Rye and eased him to the ground. There was no word in the Dhaulenian language nor in the Vatolok dialect that could describe the tremendous feelings of relief and elation Tahki felt then. Rye’s breath was unsteady, but he had strength to open his eyes and smile.
Tahki faced the other person, who was covered in black mud from head to toe and holding a third body.
“Sornjia,” Tahki said. “How did you…. What are you doing here?” The bullet wound on his shoulder bled.
“Pooka said you needed help,” Sornjia replied in a hoarse voice. He set the limp body down. A bit of blond hair popped through the gunk, and an immediate rage rose inside Tahki. He swiped up a shard of obsidian and raised it over Dyraien’s unconscious body.
Rye coughed. “Tahki, no.”
“He almost killed us!”
“We need him alive, to answer for his crimes.” Rye’s voice sounded so weak, like he barely hung on to consciousness himself.
Tahki had never wanted to take someone’s life so badly, not even Zinc’s.
“Tahki,” Rye whispered. “If we don’t take him alive, we might be blamed for the queen’s death. We need to turn him over to the council.”
Tahki sighed. He tossed the shard away and slumped beside Rye.
Rye shut his eyes.
Tahki wondered if Rye had other reasons for saving Dyraien, but he let the thought slide away. They were safe, and for now, that was enough.
Chapter 16
THEY SAT in the dirt, the three of them too tired to stand. Sornjia had rinsed his shoulder with river water upstream. He bled slowly now, but Rye said it wasn’t life-threatening. Rye had broken his index finger on his
