Freewalker Read online

  Stowe grows cold as the realization sinks in. She and Roan are those two survivors. They come from Longlight, where the descendants of one renegade army sought to conceal themselves. A strange emotion surges through her. Her face pinches, her eyes sting. Is this grief? She swipes it away like foreign matter. The irritant purged, she locks eyes with Willum.

  “Longlight is gone, and if any Eaters lived there, they are now dead. So that leaves the fourth group of renegades. Are they all Eaters?”

  “No, not all. But... they are rumored to be powerful in other ways.”

  “Are they as dangerous as I’ve been told?”

  Willum’s fingertips squeeze his temples, he breathes, then looks in her eyes.

  “Darius ensures that only the most rudimentary technology is allowed outside the City gates. Thus, as far as we are aware, they have no weapons other than those they might make themselves. This would limit the effectiveness of any army they might have. But, as you are well aware, the body and the mind are quite lethal tools when one knows how to employ them. And then, there is their belief system.”

  “Which is?”

  “They believe the Dreamfield empowers the human spirit. Rule the Dreamfield and you control the essence of life itself. That is the theory. The many defenses the Keeper has created have up till now prevented any confrontation. However, Darius believes their construction of the Wall is the first move in a new attempt at a takeover.”

  “Are they capable of threatening our defenses?”

  “It would not be politic to say such a thing, even if I knew it with any certainty. Naturally, there is conjecture.”

  Ah, yes, here is the Willum she needs. Those eyes that see beyond the apparent, the ears that evaluate speculation.

  Suddenly Willum is alert; she senses it, too. Kordan. The man loves to make his presence known.

  Willum whispers, “Do not underestimate them, Stowe. These are not village idiots.”

  “The conjecture?”

  “The death of only one of the original Five has ever been confirmed. Roan of the Parting, he was called. Your great-grandfather.”

  Stowe is startled by the news. “My great-grandfather was one of the Five?”

  “He discovered the Dirt. It was your great-grandfather who led the rebellion. He believed the use of Dirt should be terminated, the substance destroyed. And the others...”

  The door opens and Kordan steps in. He is smiling, a rare event, and when he looks at Willum his smile broadens. “I will be taking her now.”

  Ignoring Kordan’s smirk, Willum addresses Stowe. “Well, then, good luck. Remember, what can be used to attack may also be employed as a defense.”

  She sees the day she attacked the clerics reflected in his eyes. He shielded himself. Can she?

  “I will see you later at the Masters’ banquet.”

  “Oh,” says Kordan, the acid dripping off his lips, “I didn’t realize you were invited.”

  “As Our Stowe’s Primary, it is my duty to be on hand.”

  “Ah, yes,” Kordan says. “How could I have forgotten.” And grandly sweeping his robes, he pivots back out the door with Stowe.

  Amused, she catches Willum’s eye. “Thank you. I will be careful.”

  The Destination Room is the most advanced of all the travel rooms to be found in the Great Pyramid. Designed for maximum amplification, it is used only for the most important excursions. It is made of clear glass triangles, and sits atop the pyramid’s apex. Even the curved beds, perfectly molded to suit the reclining body, are made of glass. This extraordinary environment became a second home to Stowe these past two years, when daily she would set out to search for her brother. Call to him. On occasion bring him visions and dreams. Kordan always at her back, pushing, pushing. Those isolated moments, when she felt the touch of Roan’s consciousness, so much like her own, have the same clarity and resonance now as when she first experienced them. He would always escape her, though, always run away. Kordan had said the Eaters interfered, set up barriers between her and Roan. Did Roan sense another presence with her as well? Would he have made contact if they’d both been alone? She was sure she’d heard him call out to her. But that had been so long ago. She has not felt him for... No! He is not dead. He can’t be... though he has stopped searching for her.

  “It is a fine day, Our Stowe. Today we come to the fruition of all our hard work.”

  “Will others be witnessing?”

  “No, it was determined the added complication of an audience was inadvisable at this juncture.”

  “Lest I fail and ruin the celebration,” Stowe says, her eyes keenly fastened on the silver bowl.

  “You are very talented, perhaps the most talented of all of us. But in the challenge you face, talent is of little import.”

  It was important last week, last month, last year, Stowe thinks. But no matter, the Dirt is in his hand and if she listens quietly she will get it all the sooner.

  “Density. Impermeability. Sustaining mass will be key to dominating your opponents.”

  “Opponents?”

  “Traitors are everywhere. You must learn to defend yourself as well in the Dreamfield as you have learned to here in the real world. There are many threats to the Masters now. Irritants that must be set aside forever.”

  “I am to fight an Eater?”

  “Yes. Perhaps more than one.”

  “The one who kept me from finding my brother?”

  “I do not command the Eaters, Our Stowe. I cannot say who will meet our challenge. But I am sure they will be there. The Eaters would all dearly love to see you dead.”

  Does Kordan also want her dead? Does he know of Darius’s plans for her future? She could hear the contempt in his voice when he said her name. It was greater than when he spoke of the Eaters.

  Kordan takes a pinch of dirt and places it on his tongue. Smiling, he offers a heaping spoonful to Stowe, who cannot help but devour it hungrily. After a moment Kordan presents another. Willum’s warnings echo at the back of Stowe’s mind, but he doesn’t know how hard it is, how much easier the Dirt makes it for her. And this is important, too important. Maybe next time she’ll heed him and take less. But this time, Stowe accepts the extra dose and, lying back on the smooth curved bed, lets her mind focus on the inward journey.

  ON A BEACH WITH SAND THE COLOR OF BURNT UMBER, VULTURE BESIDE HER, OUR TERRA-COTTA STOWE SURVEYS THE WATERY LANDSCAPE.

  “WHAT’S OUR APPROACH?”

  THE VULTURE STEPS INTO THE SEA AND DISAPPEARS. WITH A DOWNWARD SWEEP OF HER HAND, STOWE GLIDES EFFORTLESSLY INTO THE WATER, DESPITE HER FORM OF CLAY.

  LEAGUE AFTER LEAGUE OF VAST CORAL BEDS, PULSATING FIELDS OF ANEMONES, SCHOOLS OF TINY GLOWING FISH AND THEIR LUMBERING SOLITARY PREDATORS ALL ZOOM PAST HER. MOVING AT FABULOUS SPEEDS, SHE BARELY GLIMPSES THE SIGHTS AS THEY WHISK BY, THE STRUGGLE BETWEEN HER RESOLVE AND HER ANXIETY CONSUMING ALL HER ATTENTION.

  “HERE.” THE VOICE OF KORDAN INTRUDES UPON HER THOUGHTS. HOW FREE HE FEELS TO INVADE HER IN THIS WAY. SHE IS PARTIALLY TO BLAME, SHE KNOWS. AT FIRST IT SEEMED A MOST APPEALING MAGIC, AN ENTERTAINING GAME, BUT SHE WAS MISTAKEN. NOW SHE RECOGNIZES IT FOR WHAT IT IS, THIS BARGING INTO HER MIND. AN ASSAULT. WHEN THE TIME COMES, SHE WILL MAKE HIM SUFFER FOR IT.

  LIFTING HER CLAY HEAD SO THAT HER EYES SKIM THE SURFACE OF THE WATER, SHE GASPS. HOW COULD THEY CALL THIS A WALL? WERE THEY SO PETTY, SO AFRAID, THAT THEY COULD NOT ADMIRE THE ACCOMPLISHMENTS OF THEIR ENEMIES? THE SURGING CASCADE OF ENERGY DRAPES LIKE A LUMINESCENT, LIQUID FABRIC. ITS LENGTH AND HEIGHT ARE IMPOSSIBLE TO DETERMINE, FOR IT SPRAWLS ACROSS THE HORIZON IN ALL DIRECTIONS. THIS WALL IS SO LARGE THAT, FAR TO THE WEST, THE SPIRACAL, DARIUS’S MOST DANGEROUS CONSTRUCTION, APPEARS TINY AND INCONSEQUENTIAL. SINKING, SHE OBSERVES THAT THE WALL EXTENDS TO THE OCEAN FLOOR AND PROBABLY BEYOND. SHE CAN SEE WHY IT IS CONSIDERED A THREAT TO THE SECURITY OF THE CONURBATION. DIPPING AND FLARING AS SPARKS OF LIGHT SHOOT ACROSS IT, THIS BARRIER APPEARS TO BE ALIVE AND IT IS MOST CERTAINLY DANGEROUS. VERY DANGEROUS.

&nbs
p; AS IF SENSING HER DOUBTS, KORDAN JOLTS HER BACK TO THE TASK AT HAND. “ONCE YOU HAVE PENETRATED THE WALL, DO NOT TARRY. BLAST BACK THROUGH IMMEDIATELY, AND RETURN TO ME.”

  “WHAT IF I’M PURSUED?”

  “ANY STUPID ENOUGH TO FOLLOW, I’LL CATCH AND BRING HOME AS A SPECIAL TREAT FOR THE ELDEST. AFTER, OF COURSE, I’VE PERFORMED MY FIRST DUTY, WHICH IS TO PROTECT YOU.”

  AND TO MAKE SURE I DON’T THINK TOO DEEPLY ABOUT WHAT I’M DOING, REALIZES STOWE. BUT THE UNDERTAKING IS IMPOSSIBLE TO AVOID, HER PATH AND THE MASTER’S STILL INEXTRICABLY INTERTWINED. EMBRACING THE PAIN, SHE TRANSMUTATES UNTIL THE WHOLE OF HER BODY, EVEN HER PRECIOUS HAND, HAS CRYSTALLIZED INTO DIAMOND. READY, SHE FOCUSES HER INTENT ON THE NEAREST POINT OF THE UNDULATING CURTAIN. SHE LEAPS, NEVER TAKING HER EYES OFF THAT POINT, STEADILY ACCELERATING AS SHE ROCKETS TOWARD HER GOAL, BRIMMING WITH ANTICIPATION.

  SHE SEES THE FLICKERING RAYS OF LIGHT FORM A LIVING TAPESTRY, BUT WITHIN SECONDS SHE’S TOO CLOSE TO DISCERN ITS MESSAGE. IF ITS SURFACE IS IMPOSSIBLE TO DECIPHER, THE NATURE OF ITS DEPTH IS EQUALLY ELUSIVE. SINCE ITS OPACITY PREVENTS HER FROM SEEING THROUGH IT, THERE IS NO WAY OF KNOWING IF ANYONE WAITS IN AMBUSH. BUT ON THIS SIDE OF THE WALL, THERE ARE NO DEFENDERS, NO ONE TO SLOW HER APPROACH. THAT, AT LEAST, IS AS EXPECTED.

  WHEN SHE’S CLOSE ENOUGH TO HEAR THE INTERTWINED WHISTLING AND HUMMING OF THE BARRIER, SHE REALIZES WITH A SHOCK THAT SHE’S ALREADY IN. THIS WALL IS DEEP—SO DEEP THE OTHER SIDE IS BEYOND THE REACH OF HER VISION. THE LIGHT IS FANTASTIC, VIBRANT COLOR JUMPING, DANCING, FLARING, BOUNCING OFF HER CRYSTALLINE FORM.

  SHE CHECKS HERSELF FOR ANY FLAWS. THERE ARE NONE. HER IMPERMEABLE ANATOMY PROVIDED SAFE PASSAGE THROUGH THE WHORL, AND THE THREAT IN THIS WALL OF VISCOUS ENERGY SEEMS MINIMAL BY COMPARISON.

  CONFIDENT, STOWE STAYS ON COURSE. SHE WATCHES, INTRIGUED, AS A SHAFT OF LIGHT GLANCES ALONG THE EDGES OF HER PRISMATIC SKIN UNTIL IT COURSES THROUGH HER, BLENDS WITH HER—THEN, SPLITTING INTO AN INFINITE ARRAY OF COLORS, IT INFUSES HER WITH RAPTURE. AND THOUGH SOME SMALL PART OF HER KNOWS SHE SHOULD DEFEND HERSELF, SO CERTAIN IS SHE THAT THE EFFECT OF THE DIRT IS BEING AMPLIFIED SHE BELIEVES HERSELF INVULNERABLE, UNTOUCHABLE, UNSTOPPABLE.

  AS THE FAR SIDE OF THE WALL BEGINS TO COME INTO VIEW, SHE REMEMBERS WILLUM’S WORDS. WHAT CAN BE USED TO ATTACK MAY ALSO BE EMPLOYED TO DEFEND. AS IF A NOTE OF TRUTH HAS BEEN PLAYED ON HER SURFACE, SHE REALIZES HER MISTAKE. THE ENERGY PULSING THROUGH HER IS OPENING HER, ILLUMINATING HER, OUTLINING A MAP OF HER INTERIOR. FOOL GIRL! FOOL TO TRUST KORDAN. SHE CHOSE THE WRONG DEFENSE; SHE SHOULD HAVE SHIELDED HERSELF, CREATED A PROTECTIVE AURA. TURN AROUND, TURN AROUND! TOO LATE. SHE WAILS AS SHE EXPLODES OUT OF THE TRANSLUCENCE AND INTO ENEMY TERRITORY.

  FOR ONE BRIEF MOMENT, SHE FEELS SHE’S BEEN GRANTED A REPRIEVE. NOTHING BUT OCEAN AND A PERFECT SKY. THIS IS THE ESTEEMED LOCALE OF THE EATERS? SHE COLLIDES WITH A CLOUD, PUFFY WHITE, COOL AND COMFORTING. BUT HER RELIEF IS SHORT-LIVED: SHE CANNOT MOVE.

  MOBILIZING ALL HER RESERVES, SHE EXTRACTS HERSELF FROM THE CLOUD ONLY TO SEE THE OCEAN FOAM AND RELEASE FOUR FIGURES FROM ITS DEPTHS. MOUNTAIN LION, LIZARD, JACKAL, AND BEAR. HER ONLY HOPE A RUSE, STOWE PRETENDS TO CONTINUE STRUGGLING WITH THE CLOUD. AS SOON AS THE LION IS UPON HER, SHE KICKS OUT, HER DIAMOND FOOT CONNECTING WITH A FORCE THAT SPINS IT WILDLY INTO THE WAVES. THE JACKAL’S AT HER HIP, ITS TEETH SOMEHOW PIERCING HER. STOWE PRIES ITS MOUTH OPEN, SHAKES IT HARD UNTIL SHE HEARS BONES CRACK. SHE TOSSES THE JACKAL INTO THE SEA, BUT AS SHE WRAPS HER LEGS AROUND THE BEAR, SHE’S JERKED AWAY FROM THE CLOUD.

  THE LIZARD INSTANTLY ATTACHES ITSELF TO STOWE, SINKING ITS TEETH INTO HER SIDE. CATAPULTED VIOLENTLY BACK INTO THE BARRIER BY THE SEARING PAIN, SHE FEELS HERSELF REPLENISHED BY THE SURGING CURRENT. HER KNEES SQUEEZE ALL BREATH FROM THE BEAR. SHE LETS IT DROP AND GRABS THE LIZARD BY THE TAIL, YANKING HARD. THE TAIL SNAPS OFF. THE LIZARD CLAWS BENEATH HER RIBS, BURROWING DEEP. SHE REACHES INSIDE HERSELF, FOLLOWING THE CURVE OF THE REPTILE, AND CLOSES HER HAND AROUND ITS SOFTEST PART. BONES CRUNCH AND THE LIZARD’S VISCERA SPILL THROUGH HER FINGERS INTO HER CORE. STOWE FEELS A MINISCULE JOLT IN HER ABDOMEN AS ITS LIFE FORCE DISSIPATES.

  DISGUSTED, SHE HURLS THE DEAD THING WITH ALL HER STRENGTH OUT OF THE WALL, FAR INTO EATER TERRITORY. SHE IMMEDIATELY REGRETS THE ACTION. SHE SHOULD NOT HAVE KILLED IT. SHE COULD HAVE TRAPPED IT, BROUGHT IT BACK, A GIFT FOR DARIUS. SO MUCH FOR CALM UNDER FIRE.

  SUSPENDED IN A WEB OF LIGHT, SHE CENTERS HER ATTENTION ON HER WOUNDS, ERASING THE VISUAL EVIDENCE OF COMBAT FROM HER CRYSTALLINE FRAME. THE PAIN, THOUGH, IS DEEP AND NOT SO EASILY QUELLED. HOPING THEY WILL EFFECT A CURE, STOWE HAS ONE LAST WHIRL IN THE INVIGORATING PULSATIONS, THEN LAUNCHES HERSELF BACK TO WHERE KORDAN WAITS. SHE SOARS GLORIOUS, TRIUMPHANT, TEEMING WITH NEWFOUND POWER.

  TRAIL OF THE MISBEGOTTEN

  AS LONG AS THEIR TERRITORIES REMAINED EXCLUSIVE, THE CLERICS AND THE BROTHERS KEPT AN UNEASY ALLIANCE. BUT BEFORE SAINT WALKED INTO THE DEVASTATION, HE FORESAW THAT WORSHIP OF THE FRIEND WOULD COME TO CLASH WITH WORSHIP OF THE MASTERS.

  —ORIN’S HISTORY OF THE FRIEND

  MABATAN STANDS BESIDE the middle of her boat, puts her hands on the gunnels and effortlessly lifts it over her head. Setting the middle thwart down on her shoulders, she begins walking down a rough trail, only her torso and legs visible. Roan and Lumpy follow, the grove and the sweet smell of cedar soon a fond memory.

  Surrounded by a tall sea of briar, Roan is unpleasantly reminded of the Nethervines that once almost killed him.

  “What happens if you touch one of these thorns?” he asks Mabatan.

  “If you touch a thorn, you will get cut,” comes the muffled reply from beneath her craft.

  “That’s it? No poison?” Approaching the plant, Lumpy sniffs, “I guess the stink’s enough of a defense.”

  “It is the smell of a difficult labor,” counters Mabatan, offering no further explanation.

  Picking up her pace, she moves adroitly, easily navigating the twisting trail despite the boat on her shoulders.

  Something about the briar seems familiar to Roan. Examining it more closely, he realizes why. “These are cleansing plants I found out about in a book of my father’s. I told Brother Asp about it and he organized a planting to reclaim contaminated farmland. In less than a year, the land was producing again.”

  “The Abominations tainted this soil much more deeply than that. My grandmother planted these briars when she was young.” Mabatan’s voice is tinged with a wistful sadness. “It will take ten more summers for this land to be whole again. Then, their job done, the plants will die.”

  “Not much of a reward for the service rendered,” complains Lumpy.

  “The reward is the work itself,” says Mabatan.

  The air is thick with the moldering heat of the noonday sun when they come to a narrow lake. Mabatan flips the boat off her shoulders and carefully sets it in the algae-blighted water.

  Lumpy gags. “Talk about going from bad to worse. Are we really going to paddle in that?”

  The lake’s stench is so powerful, Roan’s struggling not to retch.

  “Be thankful for the smell—it means these waters are seldom traveled.” Mabatan takes out a steel flask and sprinkles some of its liquid onto strips of cloth. Handing them to Lumpy and Roan, she continues, “It is an infusion of coltsfoot, sage, and knapweed. Hold it over your mouth and nose when you breathe. It will filter the toxins. And if the water touches you, quickly use the cloth to wipe it off.” Walking to an overgrown log, she moves a rock and reaches in. Withdrawing two paddles, she hands them to Lumpy and Roan. “This time you can paddle. If you know how,” she smiles.

  “We can manage,” says Lumpy, as they step into the boat. “We’ve been in waters like this before.”

  Roan shifts uncomfortably. “In Fairview, the lake was used as a graveyard.”

  “Then you will not be surprised by what you see,” Mabatan replies.

  They draw their paddles through thick blooms of orange algae, careful not to splash. The oppressive atmosphere matches the bleak landscape. Though they make their approach to a bend in
the narrow lake with anticipation, their hope of relief is instantly stifled.

  “It smells even worse here, if that’s possible,” says Lumpy.

  “And it’s probably more dangerous,” Roan adds, indicating the shore. Here the lake is barely a stone’s throw across, and rust-colored rushes flourish to a height that could easily hide an ambush. Roan scans the area, absorbing every sound, but all he hears are the whir of dragonflies, leaves falling in the water, and mice scampering through the weeds. Their journey continues in a similarly uneventful manner until, arms aching, they see the disappearing sun mark the end of the day.

  Noticing a crest of rocks obstructing their passage down the lake, Roan silently signals the others to raise their paddles. He points at suspicious shapes sprawled across the obstruction and extends his attention beyond the shore. But he senses no threat and as Mabatan slowly guides the boat closer, the forms become easily identifiable: the decaying bodies of two human beings.

  Roan steps out of the boat and stares at a man and a woman, near in age to his own parents. Their sodden clothing is simple, their hands and feet dissolved by the toxic waters. He surveys the gray puffy skin, the gaping mouths, the slashed throats. He reaches out, gently lowering the lids on the sightless eyes, and begins the prayer of passing:

  That the love you bestowed—

  “Raiders?” Lumpy whispers beneath Roan’s prayer.

  Mabatan looks closely at the wounds on the victims’ necks. “No,” she says, “Raiders battle. They do not slash the throats of farmers with razor knives. This is the work of the City. The way of the ones with eyes that are not their own.”

  Lumpy shudders. “Clerics? But they never used to come into the Farlands.”

  “All is changing,” Mabatan says. “I have seen them many times in the last two seasons.” Suddenly she stops, sniffs the air. “We must leave here. They are close.”

  “Roan,” urges Lumpy.

  Ignoring them, Roan completes the blessing.