Chapter 33

It was Second Rust when they finally called it quits. Groaning, rising at last from his jeweled bier, Scorio waited for the memory of his viscera spilling out over his lap to fade before sliding off it to his feet.

His heart refused to settle. His body felt uncomfortably cold, and a strange sense of vertigo kept seizing him whenever he raised his eyes to the heights of the basilica. Stomach churning, throat parched, he forced himself to stand upright, willing himself not to sway.

“Can I just stay dead?” asked Leonis, rising shakily from his bier. His skin was pale, his eyes sunken, his face gleaming with sweat. “I haven’t felt this bad since… since…”

“It’ll pass,” muttered Lianshi, draping an arm over her eyes, hand slowly massaging her hip where it had been torn out. “Just give it time.”

Leonis swung his legs over the side of the bier and propped himself up on both arms, staring down at the ground. “When did Lianshi turn into a monster?”

Scorio forced himself to inhale deeply, seeking to ease the tightness in his chest. It didn’t work, so he closed his eyes and focused, working on his breathing, until at last, he felt the pressure begin to ease.

“It’s hard,” he said, voice trembling slightly, “but we’ll benefit.”

“So you say.” Leonis loosened his hair from its bun, shook it out, and allowed it to hang damp and free before his face. “But this bears no resemblance to any training that I’ve ever heard of. It’s just endless brutal death.”

Lianshi still hadn’t moved. “We’re applying tension to our Hearts, not training. The moment before death is when you call upon your power with the greatest force.” She paused as she forced down her gag reflex, throat working, then just lay there looking sickly, her words cut off.

“She’s right,” said Scorio hoarsely. “Every Great Soul out there gets just two attempts at the Gauntlet. Just today we got five.”

“And failed to pass the second room,” groused Leonis, forcing himself to rise to standing and square his shoulders. “Don’t listen to me. I just hate being brutally murdered repeatedly by emotionless statues.”

Scorio snorted. “I don’t blame you. It takes a particular kind of person to go into the Gauntlet five times in a row.”

“Idiocy is not to be ruled out,” said Lianshi, then she forced herself to sit up. She looked almost green in the face, her eyes bloodshot. “But we’ll see how we’ve progressed over the next seven days. See if this hasn’t helped us leapfrog ahead of where we were.”

“Fair enough,” said Leonis, gathering his long hair back into a ponytail. “I have to say, at first I thought I’d lucked out by teaming up with the pair of you.” His smile was wry. “Now I know I’m with the right pair of criminally insane murderers.”

Scorio chuckled softly and pushed away from the bier. The vertigo was getting better, though his insides were still trying to reconcile themselves with—well—still being inside of him instead of out. “Meeting you both was the best thing that happened to me.”

“Aw,” said Lianshi, tears coming to her eyes. She slid clumsily off the bier and staggered up to him, where she fell into a tight hug. “I’m feeling so emotional,” she said, clinging to him tightly.

“It’s because you just died five times,” said Leonis.

“Perhaps.” She didn’t release Scorio, however. “This world. Bastion. Our terrible fate. The fact that nothing awaits us outside but endless hell—it’s so much, you know?”

She pulled back, tears still glimmering in her eyes. “It keeps me up at night. Not knowing who my parents were, who I was, what I liked, what I’ve done. Sometimes it feels like too much. But then I think of you both, and I don’t feel alone, and it…” She trailed off, wiping the tears from her cheeks and smiling widely. “It means more to me than I can say.”

Scorio matched her smile, and when Leonis stepped up to join them, they roped their arms over each other’s shoulders, forming a triangle, and hung their heads into the center, brows touching.

“We’re going to get through this together,” said Scorio softly. “It’ll be hard. But I know we can do it. And when we’ve achieved the power we need, we’ll set things to rights.”

He felt their wordless support, could imagine the questions they might have. But in that moment, wrung out, in pain, they simply stood silently with him, and he drank deep of their support.

They separated at last. Leonis glanced up at the windows. “Time we got back. Let’s hurry and check our old coffers. With a little luck that toad will have stayed gone.”

“Oh no,” moaned Lianshi, clutching at her hip. “I can’t fight again. Even if it’s a real fight.”

“We’ll have to stay alert,” said Scorio, walking through the assembled biers toward the great doors. “We’ve a long stretch of ruins to cross, and they get more dangerous at night.”

“Shouldn’t we have left earlier?” asked Leonis. “So that we wouldn’t be racing against fiends in the darkness of the ruins while already exhausted?”

“After careful consideration, I think the answer is yes,” said Lianshi.

“I thought we’d get through that room,” said Scorio, chagrin rising within him. He stepped into the base of a stairwell that led up to the balconies. “I know you did, too. We came so close.”

“Close is a very flexible term,” said Leonis, following him up the steps. “But yes. I know what you mean.”

It galled Scorio that they hadn’t passed into the third chamber. Each time they’d entered the second, three different statues had come to life. The variety made it impossible to plan; once they’d faced three blade-wielding warriors who’d advanced in lockstep, another time they’d faced three ranged fighters, with one, in particular, proving to be deadly with his thrown knives. They had to improvise each time, and on their fourth attempt, they’d come so close. Two of them against the assassin lady, and it had just barely managed to defeat them.

Scorio had been convinced they’d make it to the third room. Had insisted on one last run.

Only for them to suffer their worst defeat yet.

Still, he knew that each run had benefited them. They’d improved as a team, had grown more decisive, had developed tactics that they could call out depending on what they’d faced.

Another run or two and they would have made it through.

They checked each of their coffers, but all of them spoke the same tale: long looted or cleansed, they all were bare of anything but dust.

Scorio tried not to feel disappointed. Searching the coffers would have been an obvious first choice for any looters after the Academy was abandoned. Still. It wouldn’t have minded a lucky break.

Descending to the main floor, Leonis led them through the chambers and hallways, over the mounds of rubble and around collapsed chambers till at last, they emerged outside the ancient Academy.

The sun-wire was a filament of burning rust across the sky, with wisps of mist rising in great curves from the canals to burn off halfway up, forming an ethereal, partially completed pattern down the length of the city’s cylinder, all of it tinged in salmon pinks and deep oranges by the dying light.

The three of them stood shoulder to shoulder, gazing out over the ruins, over the city, and then up to where Bastion wrapped around them. The sight was marvelous, strange, surreal, and felt at once beautiful and wrong to Scorio.

“This doesn’t feel like home,” said Lianshi, tone muted. “But I don’t know what should.”

“We’ll make it our home,” said Leonis. “After all, we’ve done so hundreds of times before.”

“Some of us,” said Scorio.

Leonis looked sidelong at him. “True. Sorry.”

“No apology necessary.” Scorio stretched out his shoulder, arm pressed across his chest, and then took the first step down. “Let’s get you both back to the Academy before you’re forced to spend the night on the streets.”

The toad hadn’t returned, and Scorio was growing sufficiently familiar with the ruins to navigate around the dangerous areas; occasionally they realized they were being tracked, once had to climb frantically to avoid a massive cobalt-blue crab which erupted from a crevasse to come charging at them, claws snapping, and twice nearly ran into traps set by cunning insectile predators. But each time, Scorio was able to guide them quickly to safety.

They traveled in silence, each sunken into their own thoughts, and when they finally reached the border where the living city of Bastion began his friends turned to face him.

“We can take it from here,” said Leonis firmly. “There’s no need for you to walk all the way to our ward and back.”

“Are you sure?” asked Scorio. “It’s no bother.”

“We’re fine,” said Lianshi, smiling. “The walk eased the worst of the pain anyway. You get home. Rest.”

They stood in silence.

“Listen,” said Lianshi at last. “Promise me you won’t attempt the Gauntlet without us.”

“What?” Scorio flushed and gave an involuntary laugh. “What makes you think I’d do that?”

Lianshi set her jaw. “Scorio.”

Leonis crossed his arms and widened his stance subtly. “Swear it, my friend. We want you to be in one piece come next Eighthday.”

Scorio looked away from them, scanned the buildings that loomed over the street, and tugged at the hem of his robes. “You’re asking me not to train?”

“That’s not training,” said Lianshi sternly. “Or, more accurately, that’s not the kind of training you should do alone. Promise us.”

Scorio dragged his hand through his hair. “And what should I do while you both benefit from the Academy’s largesse, huh? Sit and manipulate Coal mana?”

Leonis lowered his chin. “I’m sorry you don’t have access to the same resources we do. That doesn’t make it all right for you to kill yourself.”

Scorio ground his teeth as he forced his emotions down. “I don’t blame you, my friend. But I need to use what options I have at hand. I don’t get to be selective.”

“So you were going to go back,” said Lianshi, eyes widening. “You were planning to enter the Gauntlet alone?”

“No!” Scorio threw his arms out wide. “I hadn’t even thought that far! But now that you mention it, why shouldn’t I? What’s the worst that can happen to me? I already live in the ruins. It’s not like crossing them’s going to get any worse. And if I enter the Gauntlet, sure, I’ll die. But it’s the best way to apply tension to my soul, right? Why shouldn’t I make use of it?”

“Because,” said Leonis firmly, slowly, “dying over and over again isn’t something you can just brush off. It takes a toll. Hell, Scorio, I’ve just done it five times and I feel awful. I know you. You’ll go back there every day. You’ll probably camp there. And die repeatedly until there’s no Scorio left.”

“Camp there,” mused Scorio.

“No!” Leonis stepped forward and jabbed a finger into Scorio’s chest. “Listen to your friends. We’re not trying to hold you back. We want you to progress just like we’re doing. But not at the expense of your sanity.”

Scorio met Leonis’s gaze squarely. “I understand what you’re saying. I appreciate your concern. But I won’t make an oath I don’t intend to keep.”

For a long moment, Leonis just stood there, finger still pressed into Scorio’s chest, then he threw his arms up and turned away. “Useless.”

“I understand,” said Lianshi softly. She reached out and touched his arm. “I really do. But if you must go back, can you attempt moderation? Don’t lose yourself. Don’t become obsessed. You still need to rest. Recover. Sleep. You still need to practice mana manipulation. Actual training with Naomi. Can you promise that, at least?”

Scorio wanted to step back, to break away from her touch, but managed a curt nod. “Fine. I’ll practice moderation.”

“Good.” Lianshi’s smile was edged with bitterness. “I really do understand. If I were in your place, I’d probably do the same.”

“You’re both mad,” said Leonis loudly, voice echoing off the gray walls. “Why, Lianshi? Why would you willingly put yourself into that meat grinder?”

“Because…” She stepped back and crossed her arms, lowering her chin so that her ebon hair slid forward to obscure her face. “It’s hard to explain. But there’s a fire within me. A need. A hunger. To become strong.”

“But why?” He rounded on her. “Why are you so obsessed with becoming strong? And yes, I feel the same drive, but if someone told me I’d gain power by stabbing myself in the leg over and over again, I wouldn’t do it, while I really think you both would.”

“Because…” Her voice grew soft. “I have to think on it. But I will. I’ll find an answer for you.”

Leonis glared at her for a moment longer, and then his shoulders slumped. “Fine. I appreciate the honesty. And you, Scorio.” He stepped back in close and grasped Scorio by the nape of his neck.

Scorio tensed, but when Leonis pressed his brow to his own, he realized that he wasn’t about to be attacked.

“You take care of yourself, you hear?” Leonis’s voice was tight with emotion. “Come next Eighthday, I’d best see you waiting for us with a basket of Delight of Heaven buns. I’m talking a round baker’s dozen. No excuses. You got me?”

Scorio laughed huskily. “Got it. Dozen buns. You can count on it.”

“Good.” Leonis stepped back, shaking his head. “Anyway. We’d best be going. See you soon, brother.”

“See you soon,” said Scorio, raising a hand.

The pair of them walked away, Lianshi looking back to give her small wave as they reached the corner, and then they turned it and were gone.

Scorio stood still, staring at the bleak corner, lips pressed tightly together, feeling as if a great weight pressed down upon his shoulders. He should get back to his chamber, he knew. He had to eat. Drink. Rest.

But instead, he found himself imagining his friends walking back through the disparate wards. Making their way into the Academy and then into their rooms. Perhaps they’d bathe in their private pool first, floating and discussing the day’s events. Then they’d call for food, or go to some dining hall, where heaping piles of delicacies and elixirs would be given to them, restoring their strength, their vitality.

Clean robes. Clean quarters. The finest that Bastion could provide.

Scorio felt the skin around his eyes grow strangely tight, and he began to pace. It wasn’t their fault. He was genuinely happy for them. He wanted them to get the best there was after their brutal day with him. But it galled him that they’d given him restrictions on what he could do.

Perhaps he should have shown them his room. Made them climb up to his window and stare into that dark cave. The rags on which he slept. The pails of gruel and water. The small pile of trash he accumulated to not mark his presence by tossing it out the window.

His jaw was aching. His chest was tight once more, his breath coming quickly.

What was he supposed to do? Be grateful for his meager accomplishments? Revel in the sparse Coal mana, weaving it about his Igneous Heart like some idiot child playing in the mud? Dutifully present himself in eight days’ time to go train with them again, grateful for their presence, to spice up their training with a little danger?

His hands clenched and unclenched as he paced, back and forth across the street. Was he supposed to content himself with Naomi? Who didn’t even believe he’d survive more than a couple of months? Whose faith in him was so little that she’d not even shown him where she lived or eaten with him?

Nostrils flaring, he resisted the urge to kick a large rock that lay before him, stepping over it heavily instead. Striding up to the building at the end of his small circuit, he stopped, breathing hard, shoulders rising and falling, rising and falling.

Don’t become obsessed.

What else was he supposed to do with his time out here, beyond the edges of civilization? Tidy up the streets? Pile rocks atop each other? Make friends with the fire salamanders?

I’d best see you waiting for us with a basket of Delight of Heaven buns.

There was a pounding in his ears, and his vision narrowed to a tunnel. With a roar, he summoned his Heart and savagely swept a mass of Coal mana into it, then willed it aflame. It caught with a whoomph that he drowned out with a cry as he pounded his fist into the wall.

The stone cracked in a circle around his knuckles as pain lanced up through his wrist.

Scorio didn’t care. He punched his other fist into the wall, a brutal uppercut at waist height, and again the rock crunched, again pain flashed through the bones of his arm.

He knew not to punch again, so instead, he placed one open palm on the wall and smashed his other elbow into the rock, once, twice, three times, the blows coming in a flurry. Rock cracked again, and the whole wall shifted, dust sifting down from the ancient mortar between the blocks.

Heaving for breath, Scorio rested his brow against the wall, his lips pulled back from his teeth, staring at nothing, not even thinking now, until at last he pushed away and began to stagger back down the street, deeper into the ruins.

His knuckles throbbed, his elbow was a combination of numbness lanced through with sharp pain, but worse yet was the raw heat that coursed up and down through his core, as if his depths had turned molten just like the burning heart of the chasms.

He reached a familiar fork. His room was off to the left, close by.

But instead, making no conscious decision, he turned toward the right. Following the street a couple of blocks, he then stepped out onto a broad avenue that speared straight south.

Overhead, Second Bronze dimmed and became Second Clay. The light darkened and grew diffuse, the shadows luxurious. Everything looked steeped in blood, and it pleased Scorio, as if his own emotions were finally exerting an effect on the world.

On he marched, hands clenching and relaxing, the pain distant, unimportant, right up till his Heart guttered out and then it became insistent. He walked straight down the center of the broad street, head jutted out, chest tight, shoulders hunched. He yearned for something to interpose itself between him and his destination. For some predator to mark him as easy prey.

But nothing did.

A bridge loomed before him, brutal and broad, without guardrails of any kind, a simple, rugged plinth of stone crossing out over a familiar void.

He’d come a third of the way back into the ruins, leaving the periphery that hugged the city proper. This bridge marked a crossing into deeper territory. Greater predators lurked beyond, thicker mana. If he crossed it, he’d be making his choice undeniably clear, even to himself.

He’d be returning to the Academy tonight.

Scorio raised his chin and narrowed his eyes. His nostrils flared as he breathed slowly, forcefully.

Back to the Academy. To lie down on that jeweled bier by himself. To enter the Gauntlet alone. To face that bright, searing beam and dive through it, evading the blades, then pass into the second chamber.

Where those stone statues awaited him, even now. Serene, blood thirsty, indifferent, and murderous.

He could vent his fury on them. Could throw himself against their forms again and again. Could fight until he couldn’t force himself to rise again.

“Where are you going?”

Scorio wheeled around and jerked his head back at the sight of Naomi. She crouched atop a freestanding stone column off to the side, studying him with an overt stare, lips pursed.

“What’s it to you?” he growled.

“It looks like you’ve taken a wrong turn,” she said, voice flat. “Your room lies back that way.”

“I know where my damn room lies,” he said. “I’m not going there.”

“You should. You look terrible.”

“Since when do you care how I look?”

She didn’t respond at once, nor did she flinch as he’d hoped at his hurled insult. Instead, she remained crouched up there like some malignant crow, her face a pale smear in the bloody light, her gaze penetrating. When she did answer, her words hit Scorio like a blow to the chest.

“Since when do you have an active wish to die?”

He bared his teeth in a mocking smile. “I’m not going to my death.”

“Then where are you going?”

He wanted to swipe a blow at something, to vent his anger, but there was nothing close. “To the old Academy.”

“Leave something behind?”

“My training.”

“Training is best done with a clear mind. The way you’re looking, you just want to pick a fight.”

“Maybe I do.” He took a few steps toward her. “What’s so wrong with that?”

“Nothing. If you can win that fight.”

He laughed. “I’m guaranteed to die, but it doesn’t bother me.”

Her posture stiffened. “Guaranteed?”

“Sure,” he said, voice turning into a lazy drawl. “The Gauntlet’s a terminal kind of place.”

Naomi considered him for another long spell, brow furrowed. “So the old Academy has access to the Gauntlet. That’s what you did all day.”

“Don’t worry. It’s the old Gauntlet. Nobody in the new Academy is any wiser.”

She nodded slowly, tonguing the inside of her cheek. “Interesting. And you think it’s a good idea to go back and try it again.”

“Already ran it five times,” he said. “Another five won’t hurt.” He paused, considering. “Not for long, anyway.”

“It’s influenced you. I’ve never seen you this… wild. Out of control.”

“You don’t know me.”

“And I never will if you destroy yourself.”

Scorio snarled and swiped his hand through the air. “Why is everybody trying to tell me what to do?”

Naomi’s smile enraged him further. “Because there’s a small handful of people in this world that don’t want to watch you throw your life away?”

Scorio frowned and averted his gaze. “I need the training. I need to get stronger.”

“The Gauntlet’s not going anywhere,” she said. “Go tomorrow. Rest first.”

He knew she spoke wisdom. Knew that under his fevered anger was a well of simmering exhaustion. But he didn’t want wisdom. “No. I’m going.”

“Fine.” She sighed, rose, and hopped off the top of the pedestal to land neatly at its base. “Then I’m going with you.”

He’d been about to turn away but stopped mid-stride. “You are?”

“Sure.” She considered him with her rich hazel eyes. “That way I can at least make sure you don’t die on me.”

He felt his gaze turn cold. “And why do you care?”

“Oh, come on, Scorio,” she said impatiently. “Stop being an ass.”

Any further response would have been churlish, so instead, he forced himself to stare upward at the blood-red sun-wire and release a breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding. “Fine,” he said at last. “You can come.”

“Lucky me,” she muttered and moved past him to step onto the bridge.

He watched her go, nonplussed, and then followed.

They traveled in silence. Naomi clearly wasn’t interested in conversation, walking apart and picking her way silently through the rubble-strewn streets. Scorio followed a little behind, and slowly his anger faded away and he was left with a pensive wariness that bordered on regret.

Occasionally he’d glance over at her, but she was never looking in his direction. She could have been marching into the heart of the ruins by herself for all the awareness she displayed of his presence.

Without warning, she turned to climb the facade of a great temple, and he wordlessly followed; they traversed rooftops for a while before she dropped into a street and continued south, only to veer hard east for a half-dozen blocks before turning south again.

He tried to piece together her rationale but wasn’t sure he understood. No matter; she’d been out here far longer than he. If she wanted to walk backward, he’d do the same without complaint.

The ragged sheets of steam were rising right up to the sun-wire now, curling around it and further muting the light. Second Clay was nearly over, and the air was gradually growing chill.

“We fought our way directly to the Academy,” he called out at last as they drew near the far end. “Defeated this engorged toad and drove it off.”

“Uh huh,” she said, not looking back.

“I’m not boasting,” he said. “I’m simply pointing out the direct approach is clear.”

“Was clear,” she said, still not looking back. “Since last you checked.”

Almost he said obviously, but he bit back the retort. He followed along as she angled obliquely toward the main bridge, and there paused to sight down its broad length to where the Academy arose, dour and vast.

The sun-wire began to go dark, the last of the red light fading away, the world around them dimming from crimson to burgundy to rust to blackness in a matter of seconds.

Almost immediately a light rain began to fall.

“Come on then,” said Naomi, only to pause and look back at him. “Unless you’ve changed your mind?”

“No,” he said stoutly, though as the last of his anger had burned off it had been replaced by an emotional weariness and physical exhaustion. “Lead on, Emberling.”

The corner of her lip curled up in disdain, but she did just that. Together they crossed over the bridge, the nubbin of chalk held in his hand.

Scorio saw movement on the far side of the mound of rubble. Was that the toad? Whatever it was quickly ducked back out of view and was gone.

Wary, Scorio kept an eye on the collapsed house at the foot of the bridge but saw nothing more.

“Haven’t been here in a long time,” she said as they drew close to the Academy’s impressive architecture.

The rain was delicious, heavy, and warm, and Scorio had to fight the urge to raise his face and close his eyes. “I thought you avoided this part of town.”

“I do now.” She led the way up the huge steps to the massive portico with its huge double doors. “Too many ways to die for no good reason.”

“And that’s no longer the case?”

She considered him, expression enigmatic. “The Gauntlet might change the equation somewhat. Lead the way.”

It was eerie to walk back through those halls and rooms without Leonis and Lianshi. The darkness was so thick now that he was forced to use his darkvision constantly, swinging the sole patch of clarity it imparted from side to side as he walked, fully expecting to be surprised by some horror at any moment.

But none came.

He led them into the Aureate Hall with its albino trees, and then right up to the huge basilica entrance, where he paused, the space now a heavy blackness, the tiny windows high up around the base of the dome admitting virtually no light.

“This takes me back,” said Naomi softly, stepping up alongside him. “Seems larger, however, than the new one.”

“Everything about this place is bigger and tougher.” He rubbed at the wet nape of his neck. “The Gauntlet is more challenging, too.”

“Tell me about it,” she commanded, stepping into the massive room and leading the way forward.

So he did. He described the three blades and how they dove past them, and then the chamber beyond with its twelve statues.

Naomi paused by the first undamaged bier to run her hand over its jeweled surface.

Scorio blinked rapidly, rubbing his hand down the side of his hip as he turned in a slow circle, dragging his night vision across the great expanse. “We decided that the best approach was to charge the main aggressor all at once and take it out, and then have two of us tackle any flankers while the third went for any ranged attackers. But each time we faced a different enemy configuration, and had to change our plans on the fly.”

“Mmhmm,” said Naomi, moving past the biers to stop at last before the ancient Archspire. She reached out to touch its base with a thoughtful air, then drew her hand back rapidly.

“What?” asked Scorio, resisting the urge to check the exits again.

“There’s a strong mana current moving through it,” she said, backing away and looking up at its half-shorn height.

“There is?” He stepped up beside her. “But it’s broken.”

“Broken but not dead. And not just Coal mana, either. I sensed…” She shook her head. “Suffice to say it was powerful and beyond my ability to parse.”

Scorio studied the brutal lower half of the Archspire, then considered the part that lay smashed across some fifty biers. “What does it mean?”

Naomi cleared her throat. “I don’t know.”

“Can we… harvest that mana, somehow?”

To which she just turned to stare at him, eyebrow raised.

“What?” he asked. “We’re on a quest to get better than Coal, right? And if the Archspire here has high-quality mana going to waste…?”

“You’re welcome to try,” she said dryly. “But while I can sense it, it’s protected, sheathed within the Archspire proper.”

Scorio nodded. “Ah well. It was just a thought.”

Naomi turned and walked to the closest undamaged bier. Bending down, she considered the activation crystal, then ran her hand over its beveled edge. “You sure you want to go back in there?”

“You’re still asking me? After we’ve come all this way?”

“Pro forma. Find your own bier, then. Let’s get this done.”

He did so, and as the crystal came to life, he felt a fluttering in his stomach and had to resist the urge to rub his hands together. He was going into the Gauntlet with Naomi. An Emberling.

How far would they get?

He hopped up onto the bier and saw that she was already lying upon her own.

Lying back, he stared straight up into the gloom, waiting for the darkness to take him.

The statues, he was sure, wouldn’t stand a chance.