The Stone Sky (The Broken Earth #3)(76)
He’s not as skilled now as you were then. Part of the torus remains around him; he just stretches and reshapes its forward edge to form a barrier between Castrima and the big scoria gates of the node station. Fortunately there’s no one in front of him (after you shouted at people to get out of the way). Then with a final flick of redirected kinetics he smashes the gates apart and ices the crossbow wielders before letting the torus spin away. Then while Castrima’s Strongbacks charge in and take care of things, you go over to find Maxixe sprawled in the wagon bed, panting.
“Sloppy,” you say, catching one of his hands and pulling it to you, since you can’t exactly chafe it between your own. You can feel the cold of his skin through four layers of clothing. “Should’ve anchored that torus ten feet away, at least.”
He grumbles, eyes drifting shut. His stamina’s gone completely to rust, but that’s probably because starvation and orogeny don’t mix well. “Haven’t needed to do anything fancier than just freeze people, for a couple of years now.” Then he glowers at you. “You didn’t bother, I see.”
You smile wearily. “That’s because I knew you had it.” Then you scrape away a patch of ice from the wagon bed so you can have somewhere to sit until the fighting’s done.
When it’s over, you pat Maxixe – who’s fallen asleep – and then get up to go find Ykka. She’s just inside the gates with Esni and a couple of other Strongbacks, all of them looking at the tiny paddock in wonder. There’s a goat in there, eying everyone with indifference as it chews on some hay. You haven’t seen a goat since Tirimo.
First things first, though. “Make sure they don’t kill the doctor, or doctors,” you say to Ykka and Esni. “They’re probably barricaded in with the node maintainer. Lerna won’t know how to take care of the maintainer; it takes special skills.” You pause. “If you’re still committed to this plan.”
Ykka nods and glances at Esni, who nods and glances at another woman, who eyeballs a young man, who then runs into the node facility. “What are the chances the doctor will kill the maintainer?” Esni asks. “For mercy?”
You resist the urge to say, Mercy is for people. That way of thinking needs to die, even if you’re thinking it in bitterness. “Slim. Explain through the door that you’re not planning to kill anyone who surrenders, if you think that will help.” Esni sends another runner to do this.
“Of course I’m still committed to the plan,” Ykka says. She’s rubbing her face, leaving streaks in the ash. Beneath the ash there’s just more ash, deeper ingrained. You’re forgetting what her natural coloring looks like, and you can’t tell if she’s wearing eye makeup anymore. “I mean, most of us can handle shakes in a controlled way, even the kids by now, but…” She looks up at the sky. “Well. There’s that.” You follow her gaze, but you know what you’ll see already. You’ve been trying not to see it. Everyone has been.
The Rifting.
On this side of the Merz, the sky doesn’t exist. Further south, the ash that the Rifting pumps forth has had time to rise into the atmosphere and thin out somewhat, forming the rippling clouds that have dominated the sky as you’ve known it for the past two years. Here, though. Here you try to look up, but before you even get to the sky, what grabs your eyes is something like a slow-boiling wall of black and red across the entire visible northern horizon. In a volcano, what you’re seeing would be called an eruption column, but the Rifting is not just some solitary vent. It is a thousand volcanoes put end-to-end, an unbroken line of earthfire and chaos from one coast of the Stillness to the other. Tonkee’s been trying to get everyone to call what you’re seeing by its proper term: Pyrocumulonimbus, a massive stormwall cloud of ash and fire and lightning. You’ve already heard people using a different term, however – simply, the Wall. You think that’s going to stick. You suspect, in fact, that if anybody’s still alive in a generation or two to name this Season, they’ll call it something like the Season of the Wall.
You can hear it, faint but omnipresent. A rumble in the earth. A low, ceaseless snarl against your middle ear. The Rifting isn’t just a shake; it is the still-ongoing, dynamic divergence of two tectonic plates along a newly created fault line. The aftershakes from the initial Rifting won’t stop for years. Your sessapinae have been all a-jangle for days now, warning you to brace or run, twitching with the need to do something about the seismic threat. You know better, but here’s the problem: Every orogene in Castrima is sessing what you’re sessing. Feeling the same twitchy urge to react. And unless they happen to be Fulcrum-precise highringers able to yoke other highringers before activating an ancient network of deadciv artifacts, doing something will kill them.
So Ykka is now coming to terms with a truth you’ve understood since you woke up with a stone arm: To survive in Rennanis, Castrima will need the node maintainers. It will need to take care of them. And when those node maintainers die, Castrima will need to find some way to replace them. No one’s talking about that last part yet. First things first.
After a while, Ykka sighs and glances at the open doorway of the building. “Sounds like the fighting’s done.”
“Sounds like,” you say. Silence stretches. A muscle in her jaw tightens. You add, “I’ll go with you.”