Coldmaker(40)

‘I don’t understand,’ I said.

Abb snatched the bucket away from me, setting it on the ground. ‘It’s how power works, Micah. It’s the reason behind everything. Do you know how much Cold falls in the Patches every day, how much has been harvested since the Great Drought? How many Frosts?’

I shook my head.

‘None of this life is necessary. The Khat has enough Cold in the Pyramid to rebuild fallen cities. Enough Frosts to make at least some of the world as it was. Yet it is not the Cold that he treasures. It’s the control.’ Abb kicked the bucket. ‘You trusted me, and I gave you a burden. That’s them, Micah. That’s how the Nobles win. They keep us docile and under their heels. They give us burden after burden so we won’t think. They lie to us and tell us it’s the Crier’s will, so we forget about ourselves and obey.’

I hunched over, acid from my stomach dribbling up to my lips. My back felt as if I was being beaten all over again, and I had a suspicion that even with Sister Gale’s help, I might be too overheated to make it home to the barracks.

Abb came over and put a hand on my back.

‘I’m close to the edge,’ I said, drained of all energy. ‘You’ll have to carry me.’

‘Absolutely not,’ Abb said. ‘You need to drop the bucket.’

I pointed to the bucket resting on the ground and turned, my whole face on fire.

‘Not this bucket,’ Abb said, snatching the pail and then going to the banks of the Kiln, careful not to slip on the rocks. He kneeled down and scooped up some of the steaming water. As he walked back, the bucket swung at his side, spray sloshing over the rim, but he ignored the scalds.

He set the bucket down, and put a hand on my shoulder. ‘You’re different from the rest of us, Micah. You know that. I know that. And Nobles are going to try to break you for it. They are going to steal what’s precious to you, to distract you and to dissuade you. They can’t abide Jadans who think about what our people need. It was the reason your first father did what he did to you. The Crier didn’t give me you as a son. I took you as a son. I took you from a man who feared the change you represent. Drop the damned bucket, Micah. Think for yourself. I know what greatness you are capable of, and my hope is that one day soon you will know it as well. The Opened Eye is about proving our people are worthy of freedom. Maybe you’ll make a weapon. Maybe you’ll make an army. Maybe you’ll make something so beautiful that even the Khat will have to take notice and bow.’

‘I don’t understand what you’re getting at. I’m just a Jadan who can tinker a bit,’ I said, my breathing fast and thin. ‘I’m just a slave like everyone else. Trying to be different will just make the Crier angry.’

‘If that’s true, then stay. Don’t drop the bucket. Die out here. Jadans have no need for another broken soul.’ Abb’s mercy left his eyes as he plucked out a Draft from his pocket and held it up to the night sky. The Cold went into the bucket of steaming water, the bubbles immediately stopping as the water grew cool before my eyes.

‘I stole that Draft from a High Noble,’ Abb said as he began walking away, trudging back into the dunes. ‘If you think the Crier punished you for a Wisp, then He certainly wouldn’t want you to drink a stolen Draft. If you think Jadans are only supposed to suffer, then sit here and suffer. Let it all end.’

I gave the water a desperate look, my forehead still leaking into my eyes.

Abb reached the top of the nearest dune, turning with a hard look. ‘You can let the Kiln boil your bones for eternity. Or you can drink all that Cold, make it home, and live to change our world. Either way, there’s no turning back.’





Chapter Thirteen


‘Um … Boy?’ a quiet voice asked, followed by the clearing of a throat. ‘Are you crying?’

I swallowed hard, trying to summon the tears back inside my eyes. A pair of gold slippers popped into my vision, their fancy glass buckles purple and perfectly stained. I imagined one shoe alone probably cost more than all the materials I’d need to remake my tinker-wall.

This was most probably a High Noble.

I wiped my face with the back of my hand. ‘No, sir. Just a bit of sweat. My apologies.’

‘Are you alright?’ the Noble asked.

I narrowed my eyes with suspicion. No one asked us if we were alright. In fact, it was usually a habit of theirs to make sure we weren’t. I readied myself for another pink fan incident, feeling comforted at the idea of the salve I had left in the vial under my blanket.

A mug rested in the Nobleboy’s hands, steam rising off the top – an odd choice considering the heat. I smelled honey. Whoever this was, they must have a lot of Cold in their purse.

‘I’m perfectly usable, sir,’ I said.

The mug was lifted to his mouth and he took a sip, smacking his lips. ‘Would you mind looking up?’

I raised my neck to find a boy only a few years older than myself. His blond hair was neat and long, his complexion was milky, and he wore the thinnest, most decadent sun-shirt that I’d ever seen. Gold-rimmed eyeglasses rested on the bridge of his nose, and a jewelled waterskin was slung across his chest.

This was definitely a High Noble.

‘You wouldn’t happen to be Spout, would you?’ he asked, sipping again.