Chapter 27

Scorio hefted the amphora of dawn apple juice upon his shoulder and marched boldly up to the Academy’s southern side, melding with the flow of foot traffic that even at this late hour was intent on gaining admittance. Second Clay was soon to end, and already dark clouds spiraled around the sun-wire.

He felt fantastic. The Sublime Purification pill had renewed his Heart tremendously, and it felt like a long-standing fever had broken. He felt clear-headed and alert, and drawing on mana had become far easier than it had become of late.

If only he had another ten such pills.

Still, the power of the treasure had been wondrous, and he resolved to find a way to thank Lianshi properly in turn. The gift had meant more to him than she could ever guess.

But that would have to wait. As he drew closer to the blue door, Scorio schooled his features, attempting to appear both intent and bored, an unimportant courier determined to finish his assignment as quickly as possible. The hood hung low over his brow, shadowing his face in the already dim, reddish light of the last cycle. Heart pounding in time to his footsteps, he watched with avid interest as those ahead of him were processed and allowed in.

There was no actual door, it turned out, but rather a large archway whose framing stones were painted a faded blue; broad enough to admit five men walking abreast, it was guarded by two guards in rose and gray with a third reading permits and papers. The sight of them sent a chill through Scorio; for a moment he felt nausea roil his gut and grew light-headed—it seemed like just a moment ago that men just like these had tossed him through the Final Door.

But the process was efficient, and the line moved forward quickly. Scorio straightened, breathed deeply, and watched as those ahead were processed and sent on their way.

Scorio resisted the urge to look up. To take in the intimidating bulk of the Academy with a glance, from its improbably massive domes to its complicated accompanying halls, arcades, towers, and other architectural features he didn’t know the name for. But from a distance, it had seemed familiar, puzzlingly so, until he’d realized how well it resembled its larger, dour brother at the far end of the ruins.

“Cutting it fine, my lad,” said the guard as he extended his gloved hand for Scorio’s papers. “Cutting it fine.”

“Apologies,” was all he said, and handed over the golden chit.

A flicker of surprise passed over his face, and then he handed it back. “Personal delivery? You know where to go?”

“Hall of Golden Reflections,” was all Scorio replied, neither affirming nor denying.

“Right enough. You’ll be making a hard left when you reach the main corridor, away from the kitchens. Follow that through two courtyards, straight as an arrow, then take a left along the next gallery. Down the first set of broad steps, and the guards there’ll tell you where to go next. Clear?”

“Clear,” said Scorio, slipping the chit back into his robes.

“Mind, no wasting time, no wandering, no gaping. We find you anywhere but the straight path between here and your destination, you’ll be whipped. Now move on. Next!”

Scorio bowed his head gratefully, and passed through the blue archway, into the gloom whose darkness was soon dispelled by torches burning in iron brackets along the wall.

Dry swallowing, he turned left when the broad passageway opened into a busy corridor. Servants of all stripes were hurrying in every direction, many carrying packages, others pushing cleaning carts, some chatting rapidly as they went in pairs, others slipping through the crowd like eels.

Adopting his neutral expression once more, Scorio entered the flow and hurried along, doing his best to not stare around avidly and take in all the details. Everywhere he looked he saw signs of elegance and decay, of past glories and faded promise. Footfalls and voices echoed down from the high ceiling in a constant murmur, and every open door afforded him a glimpse of the great kitchens at work, from storerooms to bakeries to massive chambers filled with hundreds laboring over counters, pots, and turning spits.

The first courtyard was dominated by a massive fountain whose centerpiece was a much-eroded statue of a humanoid cat holding aloft a great gourd; from this, four streams poured into separate pools, at whose lips were lined dozens of servants, intent on refilling their buckets and pails.

Back into the body of the Academy, the hallway plunged, the crowd growing thinner as more and more servants branched off in different directions. A bold red stripe was painted along the walls here, and the iron sconces were now bronze. The kitchens were behind him, and he moved past storerooms of all kinds, catching glimpses of folded linens, crates, parcels, and jars through every open door.

A second courtyard opened on his right, visible through an arcade of columns, a large herb garden tended by weary gardeners who pruned and catered to the varied plants as if that were their eternal lot in life, hunched over plants of virulent yellow or blossoms that wept fire, weeding out ivy from between climbing vines of softly glowing vegetables.

What treasures grew within arm’s reach? The courtyard was imposingly large, its contents intimidatingly varied, but then it was gone, and Scorio hurried along an even broader hallway whose side was painted with an endlessly repeating geometric pattern in green and gold.

A gallery opened on the left, and Scorio rushed down it, glancing sidelong at the massive stone sculptures that lay strewn amongst knee-high grass, each a variation on a circular face whose perimeters were notched with regular markings, ornate spires rising from their centers like ceremonial spears.

He saw the broad steps up ahead on the right and hurried down into relative silence; only one other servant preceded him, this one carrying a small case with the utmost reverence. She was allowed past the two guards who stood at ease at the bottom of the steps with a nonchalant nod of their heads, but they glared at him suspiciously as he drew close and moved to stand in his way.

“Don’t recognize you, son,” said one of them, a man who couldn’t have been more than a year or two older than Scorio. “Let’s see your chit, then.”

“Of course.” Scorio set the heavy amphora down with relief and handed him Leonis’s coin. With scrupulous discipline, he kept the anger from his visage as he ignored their gray and rose-colored robes.

“Very well. What do you have there?”

“Dawn apple juice, sir,” said Scorio politely. He thought to embellish, say something about how it was the best in all of Ward 7, but opted to keep his mouth shut instead.

“A whole amphora, hey? Lucky Great Souls. That’s the life. Move on then. You know where you’re going?”

Relief flooded Scorio, and he heaved the amphora back up onto his shoulder. But before he could answer, a tall, imposing woman walked into view.

She had a natural air of command, was tall, handsome, and athletic, with skin the color of wheat and dark, chocolate brown hair worn in a thick braid that hung down over one shoulder nearly to her waist.

The very same instructor who’d marched him out of the basilica and down to his holding cell.

Both guards snapped to attention, their bodies nearly vibrating from how stiffly they held themselves.

“At ease,” she murmured, clearly intent on simply making her way up the stairs, but then held her casual glance at Scorio as she slowed and stopped, one foot on the lowermost step.

Scorio averted his gaze, his heart pounding, pounding, but it was too late.

Should he run? Throw the amphora at her? She’d been so strong, her powers mysterious—

“Who are you?”

One of the guards immediately answered, as if not trusting Scorio to know his own identity. “A courier, Instructor Helminth. Bringing dawn apple juice to one of the trainees.”

Scorio stared fixedly at the ground, one arm raised to balance the amphora, jaw clenched, mind whirling as he sought a means to avert the attention. Act a fool? Fake an accent?

“You’re more than that,” said Helminth, her tone assured, curious, almost lazy. “Look at me, boy.”

Scorio fought back a grimace and looked up, feeling at once panicked and defiant. It was all going to end here, it was over, he couldn’t fight her—could he?

Her eyes were large and the deepest brown, flecked with gold and rich with amusement and disdain. Her jaw was broad, and she exuded a natural vitality, a robust health, that made him wonder if she’d gone a day without training and eating the best of everything that Bastion had to offer.

“Not just a courier, are you?” Her voice was soft now, considering. She didn’t remember him, the ten hells be praised, but still—

She reached out and took hold of his chin between two strong fingers, turning his head from side to side. “You’ve training. Talent. Explain yourself, boy. How does a courier come to have such a powerful Heart?”

She truly didn’t remember him.

Both guards gaped, uncomprehending, but Scorio knew exactly to what she referred.

He took a deep breath and squared his shoulders. “My father, my lady. He’s a powerful bureaucrat in House Kraken. Fed me treasures and gave me the best training octs could afford since I was little. Wanted me to join the Academy.”

“He did, did he?” She released his chin. “Yet here you are delivering juice like an errand boy.”

“I didn’t want to join the Academy.” It was easy to make his tone sullen. “So I ran away from home. Didn’t want to deliver the dawn apple juice, either, but my employer gave me no choice.”

“Is that so.” He couldn’t tell if she believed him or not. The corner of her broad lips curled into a smile. “What astonishing talent. What is your name?”

His mind blanked, and he said the first name that occurred to him: “Memek.”

“Memek.” She glanced up the stairwell, as if recalling pressing business, then fixed him with her piercing gaze once more. “Deliver your juice, then ask one of these guards to escort you to my office. I would speak with you further. It’s been years since a commoner evinced such startling ability. Who did you say your father was?”

Scorio opened his mouth, uncertain as to how much credibility he’d retain if he got this wrong, but was saved by Helminth’s own impatience.

“Never mind. You can tell me everything later. Guards, make sure he finds his way to me before he leaves.”

“Yes, Instructor Helminth,” said both men, snapping out crisp salutes.

“Yes.” She hesitated, considering Scorio for a second longer, then quickly climbed the stairs, taking the steps two at a time, and was gone.

Both guards let out sighs of relief when she rounded the corner. “You’d best hurry on then,” said one of them. “Come right back here and I’ll take you to Instructor Helminth’s offices when you’re done. We clear?”

“Absolutely,” said Scorio. “You were going to tell me where suite three was?”

“Third door on the right, my fortunate friend.” The guard’s smile was cold. “Don’t go wandering off, now.”

Scorio didn’t answer.

Instead, he strode along the broad hallway to the third door. It was large, made of solid bronze, and deeply recessed in the wall, its surface inlaid with an abstract pattern of pearl and silver. It glimmered in the shadowed recess as if viewed in a fever dream.

Stepping up, Scorio pounded his fist upon it, then stepped back.

The door jerked open, revealing Lianshi, clad in a comfortable interior robe, the material light and tightly belted at the waist. Her hair was damp and seemed to have more volume for being unbrushed, and she smiled nervously at the sight of him. “There’s our juice. Please bring it inside.”

Scorio fair leaped inside, then set the amphora down, finally allowing himself to gasp as his chest heaved in barely controlled panic.

But his roiling thoughts were smoothed away by the luxury of the room.

The suite was spacious, high ceilinged, with a natural slate floor whose subtle contours were smoothed by what might have been centuries of feet passing over it. A large fireplace was set just a few yards to the entrance’s right, with a sunken living room area beyond it in the far corner. A single shelf ran along the wall, its surface laden with intriguing objects and heavy books. Doors led off to the left and right, but Scorio’s attention was pulled past the dining table, past everything to the far wall.

Or lack of it.

Thick bushes and massive fronds framed a stone walkway that meandered to a set of three freestanding steps that rose to the right to a platform that was just barely in sight, a stone platform built at the edge of a luminous pool of azure whose extent was hidden by the steam that rose from its surface.

Scorio pointed. “That’s your pool?”

“That’s our pool,” said Lianshi, hands on hips. “Just took a swim in preparation for our activities tonight. Leonis!”

The large man emerged from the door to the left, his smile broad and narrowing his eyes to slits. “There he is. The plan proceeds apace!”

“Yes, except for one problem.” Both of his friends paused. “Helminth noticed me on my way here. She detected my Heart and demanded the guards escort me to her offices once I delivered the juice.”

“The Hell Whip saw you?” Leonis pressed his palm to his brow, took three steps backward, and sank into one of the dining chairs. “You’re joking.”

Lianshi had covered her mouth with one hand. “Did she recognize you?”

“No. I told her a story, and she believed it. Enough to let me deliver this juice first, at any rate. But what are we going to do now?”

“Thank every bleeding fiend in hell. She’s absolutely terrible with names and faces. It’s a running joke in class. But now we’ve got to hurry,” said Leonis, voice turning decisive. “I was going to wait till after dusk, but we no longer have that luxury. We’d best be gone before they come looking for you.”

“Agreed,” said Lianshi, crossing to her door and disappearing inside. “Give me one second.”

“Ah, it’s bad luck,” sighed Leonis, rising to his feet and squeezing Scorio’s shoulder apologetically. “But we’re not done for yet. We’ll slip down to the other end of the hall, then take the long way to the cellar in question. If they come looking for you, they’ll guess you took off and raise the alarm, but they’ll not look for you where we’re going.”

“Good,” said Scorio, trying to reassure himself. “Good. So… I didn’t realize she was the Hell Whip. She seemed…”

Leonis pursed his lips and nodded slowly. “Yep. Exactly. Imagine facing her in a fight.”

“She can summon a hammer, you said?”

“Big as she is and wields it as if it weighed less than a feather. Amongst many other abilities. She’s a Dread Blaze.” And he shook his head as if that said it all.

“All right,” said Lianshi, emerging in a set of more practical robes. She’d twisted her hair into a thick bun and was jabbing ornamental sticks through it to hold it in place. “Let’s go.”

Leonis handed Scorio a sack, then opened the door softly and slipped outside.

Lianshi lightly touched his arm to hold him back and stepped out next, so that Scorio emerged last.

Together they crept down the hall, away from the stairway, the dim lighting working in their favor. Once they rounded the corner, however, Leonis straightened his back and marched boldly forward, greeting the occasional stranger they passed with a nod or quiet exchange.

Heart pounding, Scorio followed, and they led him quickly and confidently down several more levels and finally into the basement region that was comprised of a tangle of low-ceilinged rooms. At the door to the first Leonis drew out a lantern and lit it from the closest wall torch, then led them through the storerooms, pausing occasionally to check a rolled-up map.

“Here,” he said at last, stepping into a small room whose contents were shrouded in dusty white sheets. “The chute should be behind that far wall.”

“Look at the floor,” said Lianshi softly, and in the light of the lantern, Scorio saw a path of recent footprints through the dust and grime, leading from their doorway to an innocuous spot between heavy shelving.

“Subtle,” said Leonis, moving forward, lantern held high. “But I’m glad for the confirmation.”

“How many people know about this passage?” asked Lianshi. “You think other students?”

“Not first years like us,” said Leonis confidently. “Unless the Houses tell such secrets to their sponsored favorites. Now. The map didn’t actually reveal how we trigger the door to open.” He raised the lantern and scrutinized the rough stone wall. “Suggestions are welcome.”

“It can’t be overly complex,” said Scorio, stepping up beside him and running his fingertips over the wall. “Not if people are coming and going so frequently.”

Lianshi moved up to Leonis’s other side, and together the three of them examined the rough stone wall.

“Here,” said Lianshi, “look, there’s a gap in the mortar around this stone.”

Leonis bent down to look. “Should we press it?”

In response Lianshi did just that, depressing the fist-sized rock until a click sounded from within the wall and a vertical segment only a few feet wide slid inward. The outer edge of the “door” followed the contours of the rocks so that it appeared more a piece of a cunning jigsaw than anything else.

“That was simple enough,” said Leonis, surprised.

Scorio pushed the door in further to reveal a dark space. Focusing his darkvision, Scorio made out a narrow chute with handholds carved into the rock. “I guess the real protection comes from it being hidden down in this cellar. We go up?”

“Up,” breathed Lianshi, wiping her hands on her hips. “According to the map, we climb it three stories.”

“Up it is,” said Scorio, handing Leonis the sack and stepping inside, reaching for the first handhold. The stone was gritty, the cut slanting down into the rock to make grabbing it easier. He began to climb, and quickly realized just how narrow the chute was; Leonis was going to have trouble squeezing his way up.

“I’ll go last,” said Leonis, moving into the chute so that the lantern light filled the tight space with a warm glow. “Provide light for us all. Don’t like to trust in my darkvision yet.”

Scorio resumed climbing, the sound of his breath harsh in the enclosed space, handhold after handhold, nerves causing him to race up. He reached a claustrophobically narrow passage that branched off the chute and kept going. Passed a second, leading off in the opposite direction, and then stepped out into the third. Shuffled in deeper to make room for Lianshi, and then peered around as Leonis appeared, lantern raised high.

“Douse the lamp,” whispered Lianshi. “We don’t want light to shine through any cracks and give us away.”

Leonis grunted as he eased himself into the narrow passageway and killed the light.

“The exit is just down that way,” said Lianshi. “Feel along the wall as you go. I don’t know how it’s supposed to be marked.”

Scorio did as he was bid, focusing his gaze on the impenetrable dark till gray outlines appeared, revealing the walls on either side. Shuffling along the foot wide space, he palpated the wall as he went, till his fingers brushed across a vertical crack.

“Might be it,” he breathed, stopping and feeling around some more till he found a stone latch. “Ready?”

“Don’t take so long reincarnating this time if we die, all right?” Leonis’s voice was rough with humor and nerves. “I don’t want to go another sixty lives without the pleasure of sneaking you into ridiculously tight cracks.”

“Shh,” admonished Lianshi.

Scorio pulled on the latch till he heard another click, and the wall before him drifted forward an inch, revealing a vertical line of softer darkness. Palm on the stone he pushed till the crack widened and allowed a dim light to filter into their passage.

Silence.

Scorio pushed again and slipped out through the crack onto an ornate balcony that wrapped around the inside wall of the basilica high above the floor. He dropped into a crouch to get some cover from the stone balustrade and after releasing his darkvision, glanced around rapidly.

The inner wall was segmented into endless coffers, each spanning nearly from floor to ceiling and easily two yards wide. There had to be a hundred up and down the length of the balcony here alone. Ivy grew across some of them, had been torn from others.

Beyond the heavy balustrade, the immensity of the basilica yawned; Scorio crept forward and peered out through the curved balusters at the void below. The Archspire rose, imperious and solitary in the center, while the biers radiated out from its base in two series of curves winding in opposite directions, each bier sitting at a certain angle from its neighbor to create the illusion of interlocking spirals.

It was like gazing into a dream, a memory he’d examined, a sequence he’d played through so many times during his idle hours that to see it again was startling, surreal; he searched amongst the biers for his own, only to feel a hand slide gently onto his shoulder.

“Come back from the balustrade,” whispered Lianshi, drawing him away. Leonis had left his lantern inside the narrow passageway and was in the process of carefully closing the secret door without allowing it to click shut altogether. “Guards are stationed at each exit below and do constant patrols.”

“Right,” whispered Scorio. “Right. Just… never mind.”

In the gloom, he made out her sympathetic smile, and they turned to the coffer that rose behind her. “This is… Locker 244. You said you were 37, right?”

Scorio nodded.

“Looks like we need to go down to the first balcony, then. Leonis?”

“Ready,” breathed the large man, crouching beside them. “Follow.”

Leonis slipped away doubled over, moving with surprising ease despite his size, and they followed, slinking along the wall and as far from the balustrade as possible.

Second Clay had given way to the night cycle, and the sound of rain falling against the windows that ringed the base of the vast dome was a constant susurrus. They crept past endless coffers, and Scorio wondered what each contained. What cryptic hints at previous lives, lost identities, what treasures, what wonders.

They reached the end of the balcony, and there found a tight, spiral staircase embedded within the wall that wound up and down. Leonis paused, listening carefully, then gestured for them to follow and made his way down.

So tight was the stairwell, so steep the drop between each step, that they descended almost one above the other, turning constantly, hand on the inner column.

Down one floor, then out onto the lowest balcony, to crouch and pause as they pressed back against the coffers, waiting, listening to see if their presence had been detected.

Below, dangerously close, Scorio could hear the soft murmur of voices. Two guards were talking quietly to each other. How close were they? Was it a trick of the acoustics?

They weren’t on patrol, however, so Scorio ghosted forward, doing his best to make each step silent as he crossed over pockets of weeds growing out of the cracks and thick roots put out by the ivy plants that fingered out across the stone floor, along the coffers and marking the numbers as he went.

His pulse began to hammer the closer he drew to 37. When finally he found it, he stopped and simply stared, drinking in the anonymous coffer that blended in with all the others.

Its face was a series of subtly recessed and nested rectangles, the panels painted black, the drops between them gold. In the center was a large, dull gem.

“Place your hand on the gem,” whispered Lianshi. “That will cause the door to disappear.”

“Disappear?” asked Scorio, surprised.

To which Lianshi simply nodded.

And with the moment upon him, he found himself barely able to breathe, to think above the roar of his pulse in his ears. He reached out and palmed the gem. Its interior flickered as if it had become a miniature storm cloud and then the door faded away, revealing a spacious chamber large enough for a throne.

Scorio blinked, the shock of what he was seeing taking a moment to register, followed by crushing disappointment.

The locker was starkly empty.

Defeat closed its fist about his heart and squeezed.

Leonis patted his back sympathetically, and Scorio was about to turn away, drowning in a wave of bitterness, when Lianshi slipped past him and stepped inside.

Moved to the back wall and raised her hand, hesitant, only to trace something that had been incised into the stone itself.

“What is it?” whispered Leonis.

She glanced back reluctantly. “Scorio, come see.”

Not daring to feel hope, he stepped in beside her and realized that letters had been cut into the rock itself.

A name.

Carved in block letters, each an inch deep.

Jova Spike.