Coldmaker(66)

‘Only a Jadan can help me.’

I grumbled, but then realized the light was pure and wonderful, and for a moment I didn’t know why I’d been pushing it away. It was so grand that darkness itself quaked underneath.

‘You can invent it,’ it said.

‘Invent what?’ I asked.

‘Where are you?’

I waved my arms, but then I realized that that movement could only happen in the past, so I stopped. ‘Invent what?’

‘Langria.’

‘Langria? What’s that?’

‘Freedom. Life. Everything. Put it back to how it was. How I made it the first time.’

I tasted the tears again, like a rash from chains. ‘I thought Langria was already real.’

‘You have to make it real.’

‘Then I can rest?’ I asked.

Silence.

‘How do I make Langria?’ I asked.

‘Aren’t you an Inventor?’

‘Not yet,’ I said. ‘Was I?’

The light pulsed, golden hues knocking at my door. I shrugged what were once my shoulders and it came in.

Then the most spectacular thing.

Ice.

Ice only existed in legends; the old, alive version of me never understanding what it could possibly feel like. But at a single touch I understood. This was what the Crier was made of, what He’d been trying to give our people for so long. Ice, that lived in the deep darkness; Ice was forever. I remembered certain things: an idea. Two ideas. About Cold in the sky and the stars.

‘You think I can reach them?’ I gasped.

‘You’re an Inventor.’

‘Come with me,’ I said, my edges still crackling with Cold. ‘Come back and help me.’

‘You’ll have help. But I can’t.’

That was when I finally felt how trapped the voice was. The gold couldn’t be lifted from the darkness unless from the other side. I heard the river in the distance, splashing in my direction. I let out my eternal sigh, breathing away the last of my non-existence.

‘Build it,’ the light said as the waters found me. ‘My Jadan Inventor.’

‘I’ll try,’ I said.

‘Promise.’

‘I promise.’

‘Where are you?

The wool was peeled from my head and I gasped as the street came back into view, the fading Sunlight nearly breaking my eyes. The intense smell of salts ambushed my mind, keeping me afloat.

‘Where are you?’ the Vicaress asked, waving the vial under my nose.

Life was too vivid and I wanted to scream, but a piece of boilweed had been shoved into my mouth to keep me from doing just that. All the thirst and aches and pain from fresh wounds returned at once, all the things she’d done to get me to talk, and I closed my eyes, desperate to return to that blackness. My shoulders were on fire, arms still locked above my head, chains taut and keeping me from the ground.

I once again felt the sears on my ribcage where the fiery blade had pierced me. And the missing bits of flesh on my knuckles. And the stiffness of the dried blood on my calves, and the bruises driven deep into the bones of my forearms.

But I hadn’t broken. Shilah was still safe. The Jadan Garden was still safe.

‘Welcome back, Spout. Don’t think you’re done yet,’ the Vicaress said, tossing a cup of water at my side and throwing in a Wisp.

‘Maybe he doesn’t know her,’ Thoth said gently. ‘Perhaps this Moussa was mistaken?’

The Vicaress looked at him, a curious tilt of her head. ‘Does the Crier speak to you too? Are you a holy now, Jadanmaster?’

It was curious to see Thoth standing up for me, and it made me wonder how pitiful my body must have looked. I’d never felt so thirsty in my life, even after Abb had walked me to the banks of the Kiln.

‘Apologies, Highness.’ Thoth bowed, low and deep. ‘I just meant your time is most valuable. I can take over for you if you like? I’ve memorized the Compendium myself, and—’

The Vicaress held up her gloved hand for silence. ‘This is my work.’

Thoth bowed once more, stepping back and letting her return to my torture.

I was tempted to dismiss everything that had happened as a hallucination, just a bunch of visions firing in my mind as it was ripped apart, but something told me the voice couldn’t be ignored. I could still hear the words in my ears, could still feel the touch of golden Ice at my core.

I’d spoken with the Crier.

A presence that needed me to live.

I just had to get through the next bouts of torture until they got bored. I’d scream and scream, give the Vicaress every agonizing sound she wanted, stretch my threshold to the limits.

But secretly my mind would be elsewhere.

The wool had drained me of water, but now there was something different running through my veins.

If the Vicaress killed me, fine.

If not, I had my own work to do. And Shilah and Cam were going to help me.

The Vicaress yanked the piece of boilweed from my mouth and I spat out a mouthful of blood to the stones at my feet. She gave me a delighted look, picking up another cup of water and forcing it down my throat.

Then she pulled the wool back over my eyes, the heat returning.

‘Gather your screams,’ her voice said, close to my ear. ‘We’ll try again in a few hours.’