Alight (The Generations Trilogy #2)(31)

Bishop points up. “We can see them at night. We don’t need a building for that.”

“It still has power,” Spingate says, ignoring him. “We have to go there. If the city builders wanted to make sure their knowledge was preserved—science, engineering, maybe even history—they would store that knowledge in a database of some kind. It makes sense they’d keep that database in a building that maintained power no matter what happened.”

“History,” Aramovsky says, his voice full of longing. “We might finally learn what our symbols mean.”

O’Malley’s eyes flick to me, then instantly back to the map. He looks…guilty. Almost as if he already knows what the symbols mean and isn’t telling us.

Spingate leans over the map, squints at the towering ziggurat.

“The city builders must have encountered the red mold. Maybe they found a way to beat it.”

Bishop grunts. “If they beat it, why would people leave?”

Spingate throws up her hands. “I don’t know! Why do you people think I already know everything? Look, if the Observatory holds any data on the red mold, I have to have it.”



She stops. She’s breathing hard. A heavy lock of curly red hair hangs in front of her face.

Bishop’s point disturbs me. Is the red mold the reason the city is empty? Did it drive people out? Did it kill them all? If so, what chance do we have of surviving here?

I stare at the ziggurat’s image. At this scale, where most buildings are the size of my thumb, that one is as big as my head. It’s so real I could almost reach out and brush the vines away from the stone.

O’Malley clears his throat.

“The Observatory isn’t far from here,” he says. “Someone could leave now, be there about midday and take a look. They’d be back just after sunset. I know we’re short on time and food, but one day isn’t much to sacrifice if it saves us the risk of sending people into the jungle. Also, Em, you were saying earlier that we need to know if there are any spiders close to the shuttle. Whoever goes to the Observatory could also reconnoiter our area.”

Bishop’s head snaps up at the word reconnoiter. He nods in wholehearted agreement. He uses his fingertip to trace a glowing path down the streets, moving from the shuttle to the towering ziggurat. He traces another path back, using different streets.

“I could take two circle-stars with me,” he says. “We’d be able to check a large area of the extended perimeter for spiders, and recon the big ziggurat. Great idea, Em.”

It is a great idea—but did I come up with it? Maybe. There’s so much going on I can’t remember everything I’ve said. Or did O’Malley once again pretend his idea was mine? Either way, it’s a good plan, but not one without risks.

“It might be too dangerous,” I say. “That’s a long time to be gone with the spider out there somewhere.”



Bishop stands tall and rigid, holds his axe against his chest. He seems to be staring at something that isn’t there.

“We are shadows.” His voice sounds different, quiet and soft. “We are the wind. We are death.”

The rest of us glance at each other, not knowing what to say. Bishop’s blank stare is creepy. What just happened to him?

I gently put a hand on his arm. “Bishop, what does that mean?”

His trance breaks. His face flushes red.

“It means circle-stars can move quietly, that’s all. I think some of my memories came back. I was taught to say that phrase when I was little. We were instructed on how to move without a sound, how to track people and animals, how to sneak up on anyone, how to…”

His voice trails off, but I know what he was going to say: how to kill.

“Like how I was taught math and science,” Spingate says. “They trained me early. I mean, they trained my progenitor.”

“Like I was taught how to pray,” Aramovsky says.

“Or fly,” Gaston says.

Flying, fighting, science, even religion—there seems to be a specialized area of knowledge for each symbol. My friends were all taught something important. What was I taught? I am a circle, there are more of us than any other group—what is it that we were born to do?

“I could take Visca and Bawden,” Bishop says. “They’re fast, like me. If we see the spider, we come back. Even if the spider catches one of us, two will return and share what we’ve learned.”

He wants to take three because he knows a single person might not make it back. Is information more important than lives? I wonder what else the circle-stars were taught when they were little.



“Why not Coyotl and Farrar?” O’Malley asks. “They went out before and made it back. Wouldn’t you rather have their experience?”

Bishop winces. “Farrar didn’t follow orders. And Coyotl is…noisy.” He looks at me. “You could move quieter than him, Em. I could teach you.”

That’s something I’d like to learn.

For now, though, if I agree to Bishop’s plan, that’s three circle-stars gone for a whole day. Spingate is right—a building with power is more important than the fire pit. I don’t think we can risk sending additional people into the jungle. That will have to wait for tomorrow.

“Go now,” I say to Bishop. “Be back by nightfall.”