The Shadow City. Ryan Wieser
The red of the flame, the way it lit up everything it intended to destroy, filled her with dread.
Jessop. She didn’t know who spoke her name, though the voice sounded so familiar. Jessop. She spun about the room, though she saw no one. No one but her parents. They were side by side. The fire getting closer. The room collapsing around them. Jessop! Someone grabbed her violently—
Jessop woke with a start, scrambling forward. As she crawled away from the pelts of her bed, her hand finding the cool wall of the tent, she realized it had simply been another nightmare. Her heart raced. Her skin was slick with sweat. Her nights were plagued with terror as she slept alone in the tent Dezane had allocated to her. Every night had been the same since Falco left. She was back in the fire. She woke. She thought of how she’d kill Hydo Jesuin one day.
Though Hydo was not the only one who she thought of. She thought about Falco. Dezane had arranged the first leg of the boy’s travel, getting him on a Soar-Craft out of Okton Radon. But that was all he could do for him; the rest was up to Falco to figure out. Thinking about him worried her. He was barely older than her, at ten and four years—she couldn’t imagine doing what he set out to do. He had powers though, abilities they had taught him, the sorcery the Hunter kind were known for—different from Kuroi power, darker. She hoped that what was said about him was true, that he was the best there ever was.
From what she had seen of him so far, she believed it.
* * * *
Every day Jessop returned to her home. Or at least to what was left of it. Every day she promised herself she would not come the following. That she would say goodbye and mean it. Then the following morning arrived and she was walking back without hesitation.
The ashes had finally stopped smoking. She had taken to sitting among the burned remains, to be near to them still. She spoke to them as though they were still there. She pretended they were listening. She told them of her anger, her plans for vengeance, of Falco Bane and the thousands of scars on his body. She had only seen those that stuck out of collars, the jagged ends on the periphery of his limbs, but she knew they were countless. She had not asked, and he had not volunteered any information.
In a few days it would be her birthday. She would be ten and three. “The first one I will have where you two won’t be there.”
She ran her fingers softly through the ashes. “Dezane weeps for you still,” she said, changing the subject quickly. She offered up the information on Dezane, speaking as though she herself did not weep, when she did.
She rubbed her small fingertips together, brushing the ash away. “Many do, still. I suppose many will for a long time.”
She crossed her arms over her small body and leaned forward. She had not spoken about what Mar’e had said—not to the ashes and not to Dezane. She had barely spoken to the girl since she had shared her secrets. “I don’t want you to worry about me. Dezane cares for me well, and Falco will return for me. He promised he would.”
She would have felt foolish saying the words out loud if she didn’t already know how absurd it was to be speaking to the ashes of her dead parents. The words were true though. In those first few days, no matter how hard she had tried to fear him, she couldn’t. He had saved her and he alone had seemed to understand her pain. Her loneliness.
There were none like him and she understood that he had been treated differently for his uniqueness. She was willing to treat him however he wished to be treated—she owed him that. “He’s different, you know. I’m not sure how yet, we don’t know each other very well, I guess. But I could tell when I couldn’t breathe, and he knew how to fix it. He knows my pain. He’s felt it.
“Dezane believes in him too, I think. I mean, I know. They talked about his future, and the future of the Kuroi. He cares for the Kuroi, but his eyes are not like ours, Mother. He is like Father, someone who feels comfortable with the Kuroi.
“He’s going to be—” but Jessop’s words were cut short as her eyes caught the quickest glimmer of metal in the sky. It had disappeared behind the tree line, and within seconds there was the unmistakable sound of a crash.
* * * *
The Soar-Craft was lodged into the sand, smoking. It had left a skid trail for sixty paces at least. Jessop stared at the mangled silver ship, and at the face of the unconscious boy behind the glass windshield. She barely recognized Falco—he was covered in so much blood. Her heart began to race. Smoke was rising from the back of the craft. She knew the Kuroi villagers had heard the crash and would be coming, but once again, they would be too late to save anyone.
Jessop wanted to retreat from the smoke, watching it with an angry suspicion, but she couldn’t leave him to die. Not when he had saved her. Not when she needed him so greatly. The doorway to the craft was lodged several feet under sand; there would be no prying it open in time. She eyed the ground around her, looking for something—anything—that would help her break him free. She saw nothing, and the smoke was thickening.
She took a step closer. “Fal—” Her scream halted as she stubbed her foot on something hot and sharp. She hissed at the pain, but forgot the injury entirely as her eyes fell upon a piece of scrap metal. She was unsure what it was; it looked like a giant bolt, almost too large for her to hold in one hand. It didn’t matter what it was or where it came from, though, it could work. She grabbed it up, ignoring the way its heated metal could harm her hand. With an agile leap, she was on the hood of the craft. She knelt before the windshield, her adrenaline too great to feel the scorching metal melding to her kneecaps.
“Falco!” She screamed, banging on the windshield with her hand. He did not stir. She drew her arm back, clutched the giant bolt tightly, and punched the windshield with all her might. There was not enough space on the bolt for her to hide her fingers, to shield them from the impact. They crunched unnaturally as they met the glass. Tears welled in her eyes, but the glass had the faintest crack in it, and that urged her to once again wind up.
She hit the windshield again, certain bones were breaking between the metal and glass. “Wake up!” On her third strike, he stirred. She saw his eyes, blinking away blood. “Falco!” She screamed with urgency and encouragement. She hit the windshield again and again, ignoring the pain shooting up her arm. Suddenly, he was alert, and coughing. Smoke was filling the cockpit.
She hit the shield with all her might, the crack growing like a vein in the glass. She watched him raise his hand out towards the glass. The windshield began to shake, but he was too weak to break it on his own. She could smell the fire and her heart urged her to run. She thought of her parents and knew what the flames could do to him. What they could have done to her if he hadn’t saved her.
With every ounce of strength she had in her small body, Jessop slammed the metal bolt into the windshield. Her hand went straight through the glass, shattering bones along with the windshield. She reflexively dropped the bolt onto the dash, her hand limp. Falco lunged forward, leaping out of the Soar-Craft. He grabbed her and they fell from the vehicle. They ran, limping and bleeding, away from the vessel. Within seconds, the Soar-Craft erupted in flames.
He threw his body on top of her, crushing her into the sand. Debris landed all around them, but somehow, they were not hit. She squinted up at his bloodied, unrecognizable face, and knew he was gravely injured. His blood dripped over her freely, pooling around her neck. He would lose consciousness again soon. She pushed him off her and he rolled onto his back.
She ripped cloth from her tunic and forced it against his face. The material was drenched in an instant. She squeezed it tightly over the sand, ignoring the screaming pain of her broken hand, and reapplied it. He had many wounds, but worst of all was one to his face. His beautiful, handsome face had been cut. A giant laceration traveled through his left brow, over his eye, down his cheek.
* * * *
He hadn’t lost the eye, which was a miracle. Tribesmen had seen the smoke from the crash and had been quick to come to Falco’s aid. Dezane had worked on his injuries personally, using his knowledge of plants and Kuroi magic to heal him. He had applied a thick poultice, covering half of Falco’s face. He had