The spiral ramp was not walled in but had a broad view of the insides of the tower. As they climbed, Saul saw levels where rows of sarcophagi were sealed side by side. He glimpsed plants with deep blue flowers that filled another level, where the sound of running water was constant. This sort of decadence was normally something he would have associated with Hidria, but supposedly no one who inhabited Rokar was a maker except, for the moment, Saul, Irene, Rufus, and Iago.
More gray-robed sleepers looked up at them with curious expressions, as they continued to climb. Forty levels felt like a very long way after the prior day’s battles in Mortressa and the fight with Iago’s art-children. Saul supposed bonding with so many through that slime must be the source of his power and longevity.
He and Olivia followed Nivanti to a heavy set of double doors at the top of the ramp.
“End of the line,” said Nivanti. “I can’t promise Mataya will see things your way. But I can help argue your points.”
Olivia nodded. “Thank you.”
If your maker friend is telling the truth I owe him an apology. We will see if that happens.”
Saul shook his head. He hated thinking about the events leading up to his exile. The contests to become a worldmaker were always fierce, but when his foes had been Irene and Rufus things had gotten even stranger. Not to mention Molly, the exile girl, who had been on to them all. The one who had died at Jackal’s hands. He clenched one fist and turned to the double doors.
“This is it.” He raised his fist to knock.
“It’s open,” said Nivanti.
“I would prefer not to be rude.” He rapped his knuckles against the dark wood of the doors, then stepped back. The doors swung inward on their own accord as if they had simply been waiting for the sound. Indeed, he saw no one standing on the other side, a large darkened room with heavy shades stretched over every expanse of crystal wall. Saul stepped into the room.
Olivia and Nivanti came in after him. The shades pulled back into hanging bunches along the walls, moving with the same steady accord that the doors had. On raised dais at the center of the room there stood a platform with a sarcophagus of gold and bronze set atop. Beside the dais sat a wheelchair with the form of a young man slumped in it, asleep, a young man with red hair.
“Rufus,” said Saul softly. “What the hell?” He held out an arm to stop Olivia and Nivanti from moving past him. “Somethings wrong.”
“What is it, boy? You know who that is?” Nivanti jabbed a finger at Rufus.
Olivia took a cautious step away from Saul. “He’s one of the makers we followed to Rokar.”
“If Rufus is here, then where is Mataya?”
“That’s an important question, but why is he here at all?”
“Mataya doesn’t often leave the tower.” Nivanti shook her head. “You’re right, boy. This is wrong.”
The wheelchair creaked. Rufus blinked, raised his head and then turned away from the dais and whistled. “Saul. I see you’re still as persistent as ever.”
“I haven’t changed much. What about you?”
Rufus motioned over his legs. “Are you referring to these?”
“What happened?”
“Never mind that.” Rufus smirked. “I’d rather you told me about you and this girl. Kinda like the other one, isn’t she?”
Shut up. Shut up. “Perhaps a little.” Saul took a step toward Rufus.
Nivanti pressed a hand on Saul’s shoulder, fingers dug in and held him back. “Where is the Grand Sleeper?”
“She’s in dreamland.” Rufus patted the dais beside the sarcophagus. “Apparently she didn’t like another Grand Sleeper deciding to support Luther. Now she won’t interfere.”
The grip on Saul’s shoulder tightened, like a claw. He grunted in pain. Nivanti pushed past him. “You maker bastard.”
“You should talk.” Rufus chuckled. “Aren’t you the lowest sleeper in this tower? And there you stand beside a maker. I’ve been watching all of you from here. This room’s surveillance capabilities are phenomenal by the way.”
“What the hell do you want?” Saul’s hand shook as he reached for an oven rod. He didn’t want to kill Rufus, no matter how smug he acted. Unlike with him and Jackal their history hadn’t turned completely to shit over the past four years.
“Me? I want to be a worldmaker. Want to leave this creepy city and never come back. Want a bit of fame and fortune. You know, the same stuff as ever.”
The narrative has been illicitly obtained; should you discover it on Amazon, report the violation.
“Then why are you helping Luther?” asked Olivia. “He wants your universe for the city.”
“You’re wrong on that count, exile. See, Luther doesn’t plan to share his new universe. But that doesn’t really matter, ‘cause the worldmaker council will give me a real aleph shard once they see what I can do. If Irene’s lucky, she’ll get a piece too.”
So that was how Luther convinced them. Saul’s fingers clenched around the handle of an oven rod. “You honestly believe it’ll work that way?”
“Don’t know. But I still want to be a worldmaker. Unlike you, I’ve been fighting the past four years just to win an aleph shard.”
“Then why not give the hilt to the council? You would definitely get one that way.”
Rufus rolled his eyes. “Things changed Saul. There aren’t many shards left, not even splinters of them. One can’t be sure anymore.”
“Huh,” said Nivanti. “It’s time you backed off, boy. We’ve got you outnumbered.”
Rufus chuckled. “Not exactly.” He hunched forward in his chair and folded his hands before him. “But if you don’t want to talk anymore, I’ll indulge your wish.”
His chair changed. Wheels raised up and folded inward to make broad armrests with talon-like patterns on the ends. The former wheel supports warped into four clawed legs. The back of the chair grew to resemble a high-backed throne, patterned on the edges with curving whorls of silver patterned as the circles of a taph. A taph pattern meant an art-child. Rufus and the throne rushed toward
Saul, Olivia, and Nivanti.
“Shit.” Saul threw himself backward. Nivanti and Olivia dodged away from the dais, out of Rufus’s path.
The curtains fell to the floor all around the room, letting more gray light through the crystalline walls. Saul recalled Rufus’s child-making procedures. Usually, he based them on very simple forms and materials that let them blend in with their environments. The curtains rose from the floor on their own power. Each one took on a humanoid form, with long spindly fingers formed from their frayed ends. At least a dozen of them swarmed toward the dais.
Saul drew his oven rod. He only barely got a grip on the weapon, when the throne rammed into him. One claw-patterned armrest crunched against his hip.
Blunt pain shot through Saul’s side. He spun out of the way, then caught himself on the side of the dais. The throne thundered past him. Rufus laughed.
Saul climbed onto the dais as the animated curtains rushed around. Olivia ran and leapt up on the other side of the dais from him. Nivanti backed toward them, away from the grasping claws of a curtain child.
Rufus turned his throne around. His hands were still folded in front of him. He wore the same insufferable grin. “Looks like I have you outnumbered.”
Curtains leapt and roiled up to the top of the dais. Saul struck out with his oven rod. It slipped past one of the creatures, but found another one in the center. He ignited the fabric with his spark and the child burned from within. Claw lashed toward him. Ashes fell onto the dais around Saul.
Olivia glanced at him. “I could use one of those.”
He nodded. “Too bad. They only work for makers.”
“Well, crap.” She dodged back from a grasping fabric claw, clutching her cattle prod with both hands. “They don’t seem to mind electricity.”
Nivanti held her dagger in one hand and kept it between her and the curtain children as they circled the dais.
Olivia backed into the sarcophagus. She hit the side at waist level. Startled, she glanced down.
At the same moment, Saul saw the lid sat open a crack. “Olivia, the Grand Sleeper is in there.”
Nivanti shot him a scowl. “We need to wake her.”
Saul waved his oven rod in front of him as he stepped into the space between Olivia and the reaching curtain children. The creatures fell back from his lethal swings, hissing and rustling. They began to encircle him, cautious, looking for an opening to strike.
Olivia turned and shoved against the heavy lid of the sarcophagus. She grunted with exertion. Slowly, the lid began to shift.
“No you don’t,” Rufus shouted. His throne leapt onto the center of the dais. One leg connected with Olivia’s shoulder.
She cried out and dropped onto her side. Her hair fell around her shoulders. The hem of her coat fanned out around her legs.
Saul spun just in time to turn Rufus’s blow from a rabbit punch into a strike that bloodied his nose. Red flared in his eyes. He staggered to the side, but kept his feet.
Two of the curtain beasts lunged toward him. One wrapped around his legs. The other spiraled its claws to grip the arm holding his oven rod all along its length. He flailed for the second oven rod in the loop on his pants. He received a cut across his palm from one of the other curtain talons for his trouble.
The one that gripped his arm tightened, cutting through his sleeve in a spiral. Blood dripped from his torn arm. The creature around his legs dragged him down.
Another beast loomed over him. Olivia groaned and pulled herself up, gripping the sarcophagus for support. He couldn’t see Nivanti.
Rufus’s throne reared up to strike Olivia with its front leg once again. She wouldn’t be able to dodge. A low whistle cut the air. Rufus screamed and the throne leapt off the dais.
Olivia swung her cattle prod like a baseball bat, turning her hips as she did. The blow hit the curtain beast above Saul and knocked it off the dais. The art-child glided to the stone floor. Olivia fell over
Saul, unstable from her own swing.
Saul wrapped his free arm around her. He shook the other, trying to make the beast release its bloody hold. Someone or something dragged the oven rod from his belt.
The beast on his arm burst aflame and burned from within. The skin on his locked arm seared with pain that only added to agony from the cuts the creature had torn there. He screamed out loud. Then, the beast fell away into a pile of ashes.
The other curtain beasts fell back from the dais. Olivia rolled herself off of Saul’s chest and lay on her back. She gasped for air, eyes closed. Saul’s second oven rod fell from her fingertips. He could barely process that she had somehow activated it to kill one of the things, without a maker’s spark.
He sat up. A wave of dizziness hit him, from a combination of pain and blood loss. He looked for Nivanti. She limped to him and Olivia. Blood trickled from cuts in her gray robe. The curtain beasts scattered. The old woman’s eyes met Saul’s.
“Not bad fighting for a maker. But this girl topped it.” She wheezed and knelt down beside Olivia.
She opened her eyes, chest rising and falling with rapid breaths. “Are they gone?”
“The chair boy is running.” Nivanti’s shoulders slumped and she looked very tired. “My knife missed his vitals. But he didn’t like getting hurt.” She glanced between Olivia and Saul. “Not like you two, I guess.”
Saul looked down at his agonized right arm, burnt and spiral slashed. “This is nothing. We’ve got to wake the Grand Sleeper.”
The lid of the sarcophagus shifted. A husky female voice said, “I’m already awake.”
