Coldmaker(68)

Shilah folded her arms across her chest, looking at me as if I was crazy.

‘Think about it,’ I said, working fast, as I thought I heard voices in the distance. ‘Cold only falls in the Khat’s Patches since the Drought, right? But it used to fall everywhere. And what if it’s still up there in the sky all around us. What if we could get to it?’ It felt strange talking to someone about the Idea I’d been mulling over for so long, but it felt right hearing the words out loud. ‘I’m going to invent something so that we can go up and get the Cold ourselves.’

Shilah’s face was blank, expressionless through all the Khatberry juice smears.

My cheeks grew hot. I was hoping she’d at least be excited about the Idea. ‘That’s freedom,’ I said. ‘The Khat can keep his Patches. We’ll have our own way to get Cold. That’s how we’ll make Langria.’

‘Micah.’ She raised an eyebrow. ‘This is impossible.’

Voices rang in the distance, only a few streets away, and I moved the metal thread in and out of the lock faster.

‘We can’t just go running into the sands with no Cold or friends or a plan. It’s suicide,’ I said, finally freeing myself from the shackles, rubbing my wrists as I stepped off my corner. My legs felt wobbly, and my ribs burned, but I knew I’d find strength on my path. The Idea clamoured to get off my tongue and move to my fingers. ‘We’ll go to the Manor’s tinkershop. Cam will keep us safe. We can learn secrets, and I can try and build us our miracle. The Crier said—’

Shilah heard the voices too, her face darting to the side. ‘If you’d really spoken with the Crier, then He would have told you you’re an idiot. It’s impossible.’

I gestured for her to follow me down Arch Road. We didn’t have much time, as the noises were getting nearer. ‘I thought a Jadan Garden was impossible.’

Shilah stood her ground. ‘I’m not setting foot in a High Noble Manor. You have no idea what happens in places like that. I’m going to Langria.’

I felt myself grow angry, which I knew was incredibly inappropriate, as Shilah had just most likely saved my life. ‘And what happens if I’m wrong and you actually find Langria? What about all the Jadans still here in Paphos? And Belisk? And the ones chained up in the Glasslands? Our people will still be slaves, so it changes nothing. We need to figure out how to make us free, not how to run away.’

Shilah took a quick, sharp breath, her face so fierce I felt like taking a step back. Then a deep sadness crossed her eyes, and without another word she darted into the alley and began running.

‘Shilah!’ I called, instantly realizing I’d shouted. The nearby voices suddenly stopped.

Shilah didn’t turn back, disappearing into the darkness. I gritted my teeth, thinking about how foolish she was being, and then I began limping as fast as I could in the opposite direction, away from the nearing voices.

I was two streets away and one rooftop over when I heard men’s voices shouting for the Vicaress. The taskmasters had discovered my corner vacant, the chains empty, but that didn’t concern me any longer. It would be a long, hard trek, but I’d make it through the city and to the Tavor Manor.

I kept crawling, my whole body screaming in protest, but I silenced my aches with a glance at the Pyramid. The Crying had just started in the distance, and I watched the thousands of streaks of life falling onto the sands beyond.

I thought about Matty’s birds, and about flying, and about all the Cold up in the night sky waiting to be collected. I thought about buckets, and straight backs, and Abb’s secret meeting at the barracks, and I pushed through the pain.

I was going to break the Khat’s hold on the world.





PART THREE





Chapter Twenty-Three


Licking my palms, I moistened the dried blood on my chest and drew the red smears across my face. The more pitiful I looked, the better the chance the guards might believe my lie.

Looming in front of the eastern gate were two massive Jadans, the biggest I’d ever seen. They stood rigid, holding spears so thick the metal shafts might as well have been extensions of their meaty forearms. Great slabs of armour didn’t dent their stances in the slightest, and their skin was so dark even Moussa looked Noble in comparison.

In the dim starlight I could only just make out the Tavor sigil branded into each of their foreheads, and I hoped I wouldn’t have to undergo such scarring to be welcomed in the Manor. Beneath the symbol, the guards’ faces were focused and fierce. Rumours had it any Jadan selected to be a guard received special treatment to guarantee complete and utter obedience. Rumour also had it that the woman leading those long treatments wore black robes and had a knife that danced with fire.

I couldn’t rely on the guards seeing me as family, but I had to try to provoke enough pity by making myself look truly helpless, since it was long after curfew and the guards had every right to cut my neck on the spot.

Taking a deep breath, I limped from behind the dune, dragging my left foot along the sands, only having to exaggerate my pain slightly after my encounter with the Vicaress this afternoon.

They spotted me instantly.

‘That’s far enough,’ one of them barked, his voice gliding across the sands.

I limped closer, making my way out of the sands and onto the stone street leading up to the gates. The cuts on my chest burned like Sun had touched my skin directly, and I had half a mind to take off my shirt so they could see all the damage.