Chapter 25

He was ready when Naomi appeared at the start of the next day cycle. He sat in his clean robes, the room swept with a crude brush he’d made from a downed acacia branch, his eyes resting on the empty window.

She appeared in it much as a cat might; a sudden rush, a leap that brought her onto the sill in a crouch, and then stillness as she considered him, expression wary, thick hair framing her face tightly as it fell past her shoulders to her knees.

“Good morning,” he said.

“New robes.” She looked around the room, gaze quickly settling on the burlap sack. “And treasures of some kind.”

“Last night’s outing was a profitable one.”

She was in no rush to enter and remained crouched, noting his new sandals, the obvious money pouch set by his pallet, the crude brush propped up against the wall.

“You met with your friends?”

“Come on in and I’ll tell you all about it. I’ve got all manner of new plans.”

“Did you reveal my existence?”

“Just that you were training me. Nothing about your past or anything personal.”

She pursed her lips, considering his words as if parsing them for lies, and then slowly slid into the room, movements controlled, tense, as if ready to bolt at any moment. “Good.”

“Come on, Naomi. Don’t get all suspicious. I’ve good news.”

“Good news presages change. Change means danger. Danger increases the chances of death.”

“That’s one way to look at it. How about this: Leonis, one of my friends, forced that money pouch upon me. I wanted to buy you something nice but didn’t know what you might appreciate. So I settled for that bag of dawn apples.”

“Dawn apples?” That caused her to raise an eyebrow. “But why?”

“Why what?”

“Why spend your money on something nice for me?”

“Because that’s what friends do?” When she raised her eyebrow further, he quickly amended, “Potential friends, at any rate.”

“We’ve a transactional thing going on here, Scorio.” She made no move toward the apples. Sliding down the wall beneath the window, she wrapped her arms around her shins. “You oh-so-kindly brought me two vials of sapphire mana. And exacted an oath from me to help you train. You don’t need to bring me nice things.”

“True,” said Scorio. “But the terms of the agreement are now long expired. If we’re not working on a friendship, why haven’t you demanded more payment?”

She frowned. “You want me to?”

“No, I want you to take a damn dawn apple and enjoy it.” Scorio glared at her. “They’ve got little flecks of gold mana in them. They’re… I don’t know. Tasty. Nice.”

She stared at him, expression impassive, brows lowered, then finally rose to her feet. “Damn, Scorio, relax. Fine. I’ll eat a dawn apple. Happy?”

“Yes,” he said, watching as she padded silently over to the bag. “Thank you.”

She plucked a gold-flecked apple from within, held it up to the light of First Clay, and then moved back to her spot under the window. “All right. So tell me.”

“I met with Leonis and Lianshi, and they didn’t immediately turn me over to the Academy.”

The apple crunched crisply as she took a large bite from it. “Mighty sweet of them.”

“They’re going to find a way for me to access my locker. But in the meantime, I’ve begun working on getting two sunphires for Feiyan and more excitingly—”

“Two?” She chewed slowly, clearly enjoying the taste despite herself. “Mighty ambitious of you.”

“Well, that’s what she’s asking for in exchange for smuggling us out onto the Plains. But more excitingly, I used some of Leonis’s money to acquire that Black Star scroll from Jelan. And I’ve come up with a plan to create a potent stream of unending mana.”

“You’re still fixated on that idea?” She studied him, brows furrowed. “You do realize there’s a reason nobody attempts it.”

“Sure. Lots of good reasons. The ruins are too dangerous for normal citizens. Great Souls have access to better resources within the Academy or from their Houses, and so on. But I’m in a unique situation, and it makes sense for me.”

“Fine,” she said, waving the issue away. “If you insist. But when you realize it’s a lot of labor for very little reward, don’t come grousing to me.”

Scorio bit down his annoyance. “I won’t. But listen. Last night, while hunting for a way into the caverns below, I came within fifteen blocks or so of the old Academy.”

She took another crunching bite. “The one I told you was picked clean by looters before my great, great, great, great grandfather was born.”

“The same.” He leaned forward with a smile. “But what I realized is that there’s more than one kind of treasure. We’re planning to sneak out onto the Rascor Plains—”

“Remotely considering the possibility, you mean.”

“—in order to get access to higher quality mana. What if there’s high-quality mana in the Academy?” He smiled at her. “You can’t permanently remove a replenishing source, right? What if there’s, oh, I don’t know, rooms filled with Copper or Iron mana in there?”

She chewed the apple ruminatively, eyeing him.

“You said that the new Academy was built in its current location because of the abundance of Iron mana. What if that was the founding principle of the old one, too? What if we explore and find the old training rooms? We could camp out, train, advance, leap ahead of where we’d get otherwise, and all without going through the painful process of smuggling ourselves through security.”

Naomi took another slow bite. Her hazel eyes were thoughtful.

“If I can get within fifteen blocks, then with your help we can close the distance. What do we have to lose?”

“What do we have to lose?” She leaned her head back against the wall, her hair flattening against her shoulders. “The final stretch is dense with heavy Coal. It’s where the worst of the predators live. I’ll give you three guesses at what we’ll lose.”

“They’re not so bad,” said Scorio off-handedly. “I killed one of those blue lobster fiends myself last night. Wasn’t too hard. Should be easy for you.”

“Blue lobster fiend? You mean a kitursk? Those are scavengers, Scorio. They only attack when frightened or when defending their food.”

“Oh.” Scorio blinked. “Still, it was big and fast, and I dropped it by myself. Together—”

“You don’t know what you’re talking about,” she said. “You made Cinder, what, a couple of weeks ago? And already you’re telling me we don’t need to fear the bigger predators in the ruins?”

“I’m saying it’s worth exploring—”

“And throwing our lives away over? You can keep your Heart aflame for—what—twenty seconds? You’re more durable now, sure, stronger, but that’s your newfound ability going to your head.”

Scorio reined in his temper. “Sure. Fine. But you’re not weak. In your nightmare form—”

“How do you think I’ve survived this long, Scorio?” She leaned forward, eyes gleaming. “By throwing myself at every wild idea that crosses my mind? By risking attention by visiting the most popular market in Bastion? By making highly illegal deals with virtual strangers?”

Scorio bit back his words.

Naomi rose to her feet. “Thank you for the dawn apple. Been a while since I’ve had one.” She tossed the core onto the recently brushed floor. “Let’s skip training for today. I’ll let you know when—and if—I’m ready to resume.”

“Naomi—” began Scorio, but she’d already leaped neatly out the window and was gone.

“Damn it,” he sighed, sinking back down. He stared at the apple core. Was she right? Was he moving too fast? Was he risking too much?

But what was the alternative? To sit in the ruins for a year or two, training with Coal mana while his peers advanced far beyond him? To wrap himself up in a blanket of comforting numbness and obscurity, and hope the world forgot him just as it had forgotten her?

No.

Scorio rose impatiently to his feet, took three steps, and plucked the apple core from the floor. He wanted to hurl it out of the window but instead placed it with exaggerated care onto a small pile of trash against the wall. He’d deposit it along his run that evening so as to not bring attention to his home. Then moved to the window, leaned his forearms on it, and gazed at the street below.

No sign of Naomi.

He took a deep breath and held it, then exhaled and shook his head.

She hadn’t even given him a chance to boast about his treasures or plans for a Black Star farm.

He stood and tugged firmly at his robes. Fine. She was overly cautious. He couldn’t change who she was, but he didn’t need to let her limitations curtail his own growth.

If she wouldn’t go to the Academy with him, then he’d find a way to get there by himself.

He’d train for a few days, gather his strength, and then venture forth to observe. Perhaps he’d find a solution to his farming problem. After all, he had time—he didn’t need to make a run at the Academy right away. He could afford a few evenings of simply watching the ruins. Seeing if he couldn’t learn something about the terrain.

Then, when he was ready, if he thought he’d found a safe approach, he’d give it his best shot.

* * *

The next day he was perhaps halfway through his Second Clay run when he reached a familiar stretch of street. A chasm up ahead was crossed by a brutal bridge like a toppled monolith, and when he reached its foot, he gazed down into the crimson depths.

The chasm walls were covered as before in rough ranks of large barnacles, over whose stone bodies milky-white spidercrabs big enough to ride on picked their way, the edges of their armored bodies lit a soft pink by the hellish glow from beneath.

But it was to the freestanding column that emerged from the flaming depths that his gaze was drawn, upon whose broad, flat surface grew a handful of Black Star flowers, their dark shapes barely visible against the shadows.

Scorio lowered himself into a crouch and considered the island. Hard to reach, but that would go for any casual scavenger, too.

What if…?

The thought struck him, and his eyes narrowed.

If he dropped to the second ledge, he’d be roughly twenty feet out and thirty feet above the island. He could ignite, leap, and activate his steel rod midair. Then lower himself every ten feet or so with renewed activations, till he touched down upon the island.

But how to get back up? The bridge wouldn’t cross the thirty or forty-foot span from the island back up to the ledge.

He rubbed at his chin, glancing back over his shoulder occasionally to scan the street.

What if from the column he tied his rope to the steel rod and hurled it up into the air? Activated it at his limit, climbed up, and then used it as a base to prop the bridge? Race across before it all fell, and used the rope to retrieve the rod?

Unshouldering his coil, he tied it experimentally to the rod. At first, he was sure it wouldn’t work—the rope refused to tighten sufficiently around the rod’s smooth surface to prevent it from slipping free.

Experimentation, however, resulted in his tying a cradle of sorts around the rod, with one length wrapped all the way around its long span. Using all his strength, he tightened it as best he could, and then gave it a few experimental whirls.

It held fast.

But at what range could he activate it?

Playing out the rope, he stepped back five feet and summoned his Heart. He reached out his senses, gratified to feel the rod with ease.

He’d grown more sensitive since the caverns when he’d first found the rod, it seemed.

Walked back another five feet.

Now it was difficult; the rod was barely detectable, a faint tug at the edge of his will. Swirling the Coal about himself, he directed it toward the treasure and found that he had to really focus to get it to activate—no longer could he do it reflexively as before.

Ten feet.

He edged back to the chasm and looked down. That’d put him twenty down, twenty out.

The bridge was some ten yards long. Could he balance it on the rod? Would it be enough to reach?

Taking up the rope and rod, Scorio spent a while practicing hurling it up into the air and trying to activate it at the right moment.

It was hard. Very hard. But by tying the rope around his waist, Scorio could ensure that he could take as many attempts as necessary.

Over and over again he whirled it around and threw it high, only to summon his Heart and seek to activate the treasure. At first, in his haste, he’d just activate it anywhere; but soon he learned to both measure his throw and time his activation.

After some fifty attempts, he felt confident.

Then he worked at propping the bridge upon the rod at a good forty-five-degree angle. That meant the rod had to be perpendicular to the bridge’s direction, which would endlessly complicate things.

Scorio stood there, thwapping the rod against his palm, until he realized he could wait for the rod to deactivate, position it as he began to fall, and activate it immediately again.

Once more he set to practicing, pausing only when a school of luminous jellyfish wafted by, yard-long tendrils drifting across the broken street. Second Clay was just about to end when he decided to give it a go.

He should be able to reach it. And if he did? It could prove the perfect site.

Fool, he heard Naomi whisper in his mind. You risk everything for-

He banished her voice and took a deep breath. Heart pumping, chest tight, he climbed down to the first ledge, then carefully leaped to the second. The albino spidercrabs below stopped their movements, lifting their forelegs to wave them at him as if trying to determine if he was coming farther down.

Scorio backed right up against the chasm wall. He had three good steps before he had to leap.

Taking a deep breath, rod clenched tightly in his hand, he ignited his Heart and ran forward.

Leaped, straining to get as far out as he could.

The urge to yell was overwhelming, but instead, he clenched his jaw, stomach inverting itself as he began to fall, and activated the treasure.

The rod stuck firmly in midair, and his whole body swung out beneath it, rocking back and forth until he hung still.

Hanging by one arm, Scorio looked down. Not quite over the island, but if he rocked again and released at the right moment…

He did so, the rod deactivating at just the right moment, and he fell once more, another ten feet.

He swept Coal into its funnel, and his fall was arrested once more. He was just over the island’s edge, so he swung back and forth, and with a final kick released the rod and dropped the last ten or so feet into a heavy crouch atop the island’s surface.

Grinning, pulse racing, he rose to his feet and looked around. The island’s surface was soft with what looked like granulated black sand, and it couldn’t be much larger than some fifteen feet a side.

The rod fell, and he pulled it in with his rope. Then, he crouched beside each Black Star plant, worked the seed up the stem, and then held them up to the red light.

Tiny dimples showed that they were almost ready to be extruded.

Taking out his simple knife, he cut them into quarters and dropped them into his sack.

Then he set to walking the little island’s surface from side to side and all around, pushing his fingers into the soil, pausing to gauge how far it was from the closest chasm wall.

Anything that wanted to feast on a Black Star would have to cross some twenty to thirty feet of perilous air over the raging heat below.

Wiping sweat from his brow, Scorio bit his lower lip, scrutinizing the tiny plot of land.

It was perfect.

He set his burlap sack on the ground, took out the first seed quarter, and dug a hole some six inches deep. Dropping a seed quarter within, he pressed the dirt back over it, and tamped it shut.

One seed quarter done, a hundred and fifty-seven more to go.