Gates of Thread and Stone (10 page)

All this time I had assumed, because no one besides Reev ever reacted to my manipulations, that people couldn’t sense them. They carried on as if nothing had happened. Of course, I didn’t make a habit of doing it in crowded areas, but who else might have been aware? Who else hadn’t I noticed
noticing
me?

He seemed to be waiting for me to say something, so I licked my lips and said, “Then you already knew.”

I didn’t know how some people could sense it, but I realized it didn’t bother me that Avan was one of them. It made me feel less crazy. Less alone.

And I couldn’t deny that I liked the idea that Avan had noticed me long before he ever gave me those apples.

“I should have mentioned it sooner,” he said.

I tried to shrug, but it was difficult in our current positions. “Doesn’t matter now. But it would have been good to know a few years ago.”

“I waited for you to tell me.”

He would’ve had to wait a long time. He probably knew that, though.

“Is it magic?” He sounded awed by the possibility.

“I don’t know.”

“Before Rebirth, there were plenty of
mahjo
. What if the Kahl isn’t the last one?”

“I don’t know,” I repeated, quieter. I doubted there was anything he could ask that I hadn’t already wondered myself. “I can’t exactly send the Kahl a note saying, ‘Hi, I think I have magic, too, and I’m dying to talk to someone about it. Let’s have lunch.
’
”

He laughed, the slight motions pressing his body more firmly into mine. “So what do we do when we find the Black Rider?”

I appreciated that he said “when.” “We save my brother.”

“Good intentions aren’t going to get us very far. We need a plan.”

The problem was that we didn’t know anything about the Black Rider: who he was, what he might do, how he might attack us. I couldn’t risk Avan getting hurt or killed trying to protect me.

I slid my fingers into my bag and felt the handle of the knife that the prostitute had given me. I wished I’d gotten her name, but I hadn’t thought to ask. I’d been so worried about what might have happened to Reev.

“The knife,” I said. “There’s something about it. It scared off those gargoyles.”

“You can’t fight the Rider’s army with one knife,” Avan said, his usual wry undertone entering his voice again.

I traced my fingers down Avan’s forearm and wrist until I found the bumps of his knuckles. I could tell he was holding his breath. I pretended not to notice when I felt the light pressure of his lips against my hair. I imagined turning in his arms and meeting his mouth with mine.

I tried to will away the sensations spreading through me, the warmth and the ache that made it hard to think clearly.

“I’ll figure something out,” I whispered. Actually, I did have a plan, but I didn’t want to tell him yet. I was pretty sure he wouldn’t like it.

I had a gift. I had no idea why or how, but my abilities could be useful to the Rider. Hopefully, the Rider would be open to a trade.

CHAPTER 14

“KAI.”

Avan’s voice cut through my drowsiness. Fingers skimmed my cheekbone. I leaned into his touch.

“Kai, wake up.”

Something in the way he said my name made my eyes open. Light streamed in through the cracks of our small shelter, muted like twilight or early dawn.

“You need to see this,” Avan said, before maneuvering his way out into the open.

I rolled onto my back and immediately wished I hadn’t. Every muscle in my body screamed.

“Drek.” I pushed myself up. Once outside, I could see why it was so hazy. Fog had rolled in overnight, making the Void appear even more ominous and surreal. I couldn’t see ten feet in front of me.

Goosebumps spread down my arms. Fog, especially this dense, required moisture. The Void was nothing but dry earth.

“Look,” Avan said.

I followed his line of sight. Then I blinked a few times to make sure I was seeing this.

A bridge loomed ahead, a stone arch that rose out of the scorched earth and disappeared into the fog. The bridge spanned at least thirty feet in width, aged to the point of decay.

“Was that there last night?” I asked, even though I already knew the answer.

“I don’t think so,” he said grimly. I wished he’d pretend it was no big deal, like everything else we’d run into since leaving Ninurta.

I wrung the strap of my bag. Questions collided in my mind:
What if it’s a trap? But how can we
not
take the bridge? It’s practically an invitation.
“Well, we won’t have to keep walking through all this dust.”

“We’ll have to thank him for being prompt,” Avan added. “It’s too bad we forgot a gift for the host.”

“I’ll improvise,” I said, thinking about the knife.

Now that the path forward had literally been presented to me, I didn’t know if I was prepared for it. My clammy palms suggested I wasn’t. I had been so focused on just getting through the Outlands and then the forest and the Void that, aside from bartering with the Rider, I hadn’t thought about what else I’d do when we found him. Or if I’d even get the chance to offer the trade.

Still, at the end of that bridge was Reev. That was all the reason I needed to move forward.

We approached warily. The bridge appeared solid enough. I had been half expecting it to vanish like a mirage.

I paused at the first step from black dirt to dusty stone, but Avan didn’t hesitate. I followed, stepping carefully.

Holes blistered the stone, and whole sections had crumbled at the outer boundaries. We stuck to the middle where it seemed sturdiest, despite the fissures throughout. Tall unlit lampposts, more rust than metal, braced each side in intervals. We couldn’t see where the bridge ended. I began to wish I’d had breakfast first.

Movement above made me look up. We hadn’t seen birds, or any signs of life, since the forest. It was easy to lose all sense of direction in this fog. Maybe some pigeons had gotten caught in it. I scanned the edge of the bridge, following the vertical line of the nearest lamppost.

It wasn’t a pigeon.

Atop the lamppost, where it bent over the bridge to form an inverted L, crouched a gargoyle. Its long body huddled above the busted lantern, wrapped in smoky threads. It watched us with wide, flat eyes, claws clacking against the flaking rust, tail twined around the post. Frills extended from the sides of its head, quivering as if caught in an invisible wind.

Avan reached for my hand, and I squeezed his tightly.

Something else moved on our left. My gaze darted that way. A second gargoyle sat atop another lamppost, its tail flicking behind it.

“The knife,” Avan whispered.

I reached for it, afraid to make any sudden movements but just as afraid the creatures would pounce before I could grab it. We made our way slowly down the bridge, feet shuffling against dust and loose stones. The urge to turn and run seized me, but I forced my legs to cooperate. My quick breaths sounded deafening in the silence. Now I saw that one of the creatures occupied nearly every lamppost along the bridge. The gargoyles balanced at the tops, some straight and alert and others reclining on folded legs. All of them watched us.

It’s true,
I thought, horrified. The Rider did tame gargoyles. What if the rest of the rumors were true as well? What if he did feed them . . .

I had the hilt of the knife in my hand when a voice rang out:

“You won’t need that.”

I jumped, yanking the knife from my bag. Avan stepped in front of me, blocking my view. I scowled and elbowed him aside.

A figure emerged from the fog—a boy, wiry and a bit disheveled and probably no older than Avan. He waved affably.

I looked between the boy and the gargoyles, my body still strung tight. I didn’t lower the knife.

“The gargoyles are trained to identify Ninu’s sentinels,” the boy said, gesturing to the creatures guarding the bridge. “Which you’re obviously not.”

I looked at Avan, who lifted his pierced eyebrow as if to say “Your call.”

Still hyperaware of the gargoyles watching us, I said, “We’re looking for the Black Rider.”

“I figured,” the boy said. His eyes were bright blue in the muted light. “Why else would you be here?”

Then he turned and strolled back up the bridge. He didn’t even check to see if we would follow. I lowered the knife to my side, shifting my weight from foot to foot as I watched his outline grow faint in the enveloping fog. Following him would be crazy.

“Kai?” Avan said. I realized that I still held his hand tightly in mine. He pulled me forward.

I nodded, and we hurried after the boy.

The fog was so thick that the fortress seemed to float in the clouds. It looked as if it had been carved from a cliff, jagged and impossibly high, with only a few windows far at the top. More gargoyles prowled along the battlements, pacing back and forth like the Watchmen along Ninurta’s walls. Others were stationed on jutting perches, as perfectly still and menacing as their namesakes.

Amazingly, people patrolled the high ledges as well. Their figures looked small and indistinct as they stood guard alongside the creatures.

Avan gave my hand a reassuring squeeze, and I relaxed my white-knuckled grip on the knife. I didn’t know if it was fear or anticipation that had my heart pounding in my ears.

A silver door swung open as the three of us approached, the dragging sound of metal on dirt climbing up the fortress wall. Once we’d stepped off the bridge, the ground was black, which meant we were still in the Void. I didn’t know how the Rider was hiding this place, but I doubted we would’ve made it here if he hadn’t shown us the way.

Inside the door, lanterns hung from the rafters on chains, lighting a cavernous hall, empty save for some broken benches pushed against the walls. A few of the lights quivered weakly. Our shuffling footsteps echoed around us.

The stone beneath my feet vibrated as the door swung shut behind us. I kept walking. I had to stay focused.

“I would introduce myself,” the boy said, “but I haven’t decided on a name yet. I was called G-10. Might as well go with that for now.”

G-10. Not even a name. Was he a hollow, then? But he looked so normal.

My eyes scanned the shadowy corners of the hall. I saw only layers of dust and cobwebs. I kept expecting an ambush. I was glad it hadn’t happened yet, but this strange welcome worried me.

I looked at Avan, but as usual, his face gave nothing away.

We passed through the hall into a corridor with a low ceiling and a sallow rug stretched over the floor. The corridor forked up ahead. The boy turned left, but I looked right.

I dropped Avan’s hand, inching forward to see more. A glass door opened into a courtyard. The air here was bright and clear. It smelled different: warm and sweet instead of the cool dryness of the Void. The clouds hung overhead, bloated and yellow with no sign of the fog that cloaked the fortress and the bridge. Bushes weighted with flowers lined the swept path, and a single tree rose on a grassy patch at its center, its branches providing shade to a wrought-iron table and matching chairs.

My eyes fell on the blade of my knife, still clutched in my fist. What was I doing ogling a courtyard in my enemy’s house?

Behind me, G-10 and Avan waited. G-10 smiled. I didn’t see any malice in his eyes, but it had to be there. When he turned to continue on, the breeze from the open door shifted the high collar of his tunic and revealed a red tattoo at the base of his neck.

CHAPTER 15

I JOLTED FORWARD,
my hand closing on the boy’s shoulder.

“That—on your neck,” I stuttered, and then let go. I hadn’t meant to touch him, but it looked so much like Reev’s.

G-10’s fingers brushed over the bright scar tissue edging the tattoo. He smiled, and this time, it didn’t quite reach his eyes.

“My collar,” he said. “Broke the leash, though.”

“What does that mean?” I asked.

Instead of answering, he gestured to a door I hadn’t noticed. The wood bore scars and scrapes and looked ready to fall off the hinges.

“The Rider is inside,” he said.

I couldn’t swallow. I kept seeing the gargoyles lined up on top of those lampposts. Wild animals transformed into perfectly controlled guards.

G-10 knocked briskly on the door—which didn’t cave in—and pushed it open. He stepped aside to let us enter.

The study had peeling blue walls, brightly lit by an assortment of mismatched lanterns, and an oversize desk. In the middle of the room, a man stood bent over a round table, building an elaborate series of towers out of beige blocks. He murmured something and then snatched up one of the blocks and bit into it. It made a chewy sound.

Was this the Rider? I slid my hand behind my back to hide the knife.

The door shut behind us, with G-10 on the other side. The Rider straightened, half-eaten block in one hand. His other hand tugged at a strand of hair that stuck out from his head. He was tall, even hovering over Avan. And he was startlingly thin, his gaunt face topped with black hair that was peppered in gray. His eyes, deep set and shadowy against his light-brown skin, regarded us with mild curiosity.

Why would G-10 leave us alone, armed, with the Rider?

“Bread bite?” the man asked, holding up his bitten block. His voice was deep and resonant, and I felt it vibrate through the small room as if we stood in a much larger space. If emptiness had a voice, this was it.

G-10 had left us with the Rider because he didn’t believe we were a real threat. Not to this strange-looking man who could steal people from behind Ninurta’s walls and unsettle me with a couple of words.

I stared at the Rider’s offering and didn’t answer. He shrugged and shoved the rest of it—the bread bite—into his mouth.

“Mmm. Brilliant with honey,” he said, indicating the amber moat surrounding his bread towers. At the forefront of the display was a pile of bread bites artfully arranged into what looked like a miniature horse and rider.

He moved over to a set of purple drapes hanging from floor to ceiling. He had to elbow aside standing lamps to get through. They wobbled on their uneven bases, the flames inside wavering, but didn’t tip. He parted the curtains to display a pair of glass doors. Natural light joined the array of lanterns in the room. Beyond the glass doors, the view presented another angle of the courtyard.

He gestured to two chairs beside the doors. The upholstered seats were torn, and stuffing spilled out the sides.

“Welcome to Etu Gahl,” he said. His voice made me feel empty, too. Adrift. Hopeless. “Please sit.”

I didn’t move. I didn’t want to sit or eat or make small talk with him. Avan remained standing as well. The Rider didn’t appear bothered by our refusal.

“My name, as it is now, is Irra,” he said, and swept us a liquid bow. He wore a tattered suit, the tails of his untucked shirt fluttering around him.

As it is?
I didn’t know what to expect when we found the Rider, but this wasn’t it. The friendly guard, the quiet threat cloaked in hospitality, the man’s frazzled appearance—if this was a trick to throw us off, then it was working.

But I wasn’t interested in whatever game the Rider was playing. “Where’s my brother?”

Irra’s lips curved into a smile. His eyes, golden brown and an odd match to his gaunt face, wrinkled at the corners. He bent over his table and began building a tower of bread bites again.

“And what brother might that be?” he asked, his voice like the wind sighing across the Void.

“Reev,” I said, shivering. The weirdness of this place was getting to me. “You kidnapped him a few days ago.”

“Did I?” His eyes cut to me, and I realized my initial thought had been right: Even armed, we weren’t a threat to him. The moment we stepped onto his bridge, it had been the other way around.

I resisted the urge to step back and put the knife between us.

“You’ve been misled,” he said.

A weight lodged in my stomach.

“Are you saying he’s not here?” Avan asked.

Hearing the question made that weight grow unbearably heavy.

“That’s correct. I like to stay on top of our new arrivals, and there have been none since G-10 five months ago.”

That couldn’t be true. “What did you do with my brother?” I demanded. If the Rider could turn gargoyles into guards, who knew what he could do to people?

“I assure you that your brother, whoever the unfortunate fellow might be, holds no interest for me.”

“But what about the hollows?” I asked. “What about your war with Kahl Ninu?”

“DJ said you were kidnapping Ninurtans,” Avan said.

Irra looked unimpressed, his eyebrows raised over hooded eyes. “DJ is not the most reliable of sources.”

“You’re lying,” I said. He had to be. Because if he wasn’t, then—I breathed in through gritted teeth. If he wasn’t lying, everything we’d done to get here had been a waste. Leaving Ninurta, accepting the reality that we might never go home again, crashing into the forest, and nearly getting killed by gargoyles—this entire journey would have been for nothing.

Had I exiled myself and Avan to chase a lie? If Reev wasn’t here, then what the hell was I supposed to do now?

Something nudged my hand. Avan pried the knife from my fingers. They’d been clenched around the hilt for so long that it hurt to move them. I covered my face, which felt hot against my cold hands.

“Not at this moment, no,” Irra said. “Lying has always been a distinctly
human
trait.”

Whatever that meant. All that mattered was whether he was telling the truth about Reev.

“If you’re not kidnapping them, then who is?”

Irra pinched one bread bite between his thumb and forefinger. Then he popped it into his mouth. He straightened and approached us, his presence overwhelming as he drew closer. I had to crane my neck to see his face.

“Do you know why the Tournament is kept a private Academy event?” he asked.

“What does that have to do with anything?” My neck hurt, but I didn’t look away. I wasn’t ready to give up. I would never be ready to give up on Reev.

His smile was much too wide. “Everything.”

“Almost everything inside the Academy is kept private,” I said impatiently. “Cadets aren’t even allowed to leave the campus until they’ve completed their two years.”

“True,” Irra said. “But the secrecy, particularly surrounding the Tournament, is because Ninu wouldn’t want you noticing any familiar faces.”

He couldn’t mean—

“Ninu is taking them to play in the Tournament?” Avan said.

“But . . . ,” I began. The Tournament was the final challenge that Watchmen Academy cadets had to face. It was their last chance to improve their ranking and placement after graduation. Ninu selected his sentinels from the cadets who won the Tournament. I’d read about it in school. Every year, a bunch of high school graduates left the district to join the Academy. I didn’t know any of them personally, but once they left, the chances of seeing them again were slim. The Watchmen were rarely assigned to their home neighborhoods.

“Are you saying Ninu kidnaps his own citizens and puts them in the Academy? Or right into the Tournament?” I asked. “Why would he need to do that? It’s not like they’re short on cadets.”

“The answer to that is a bit complicated,” said Irra.

“Well, we’ve come all this way, so I think we can spare the time.”

Irra scratched his cheek, looking thoughtful. Then he pushed past us and threw open the wooden door. “I’d like to show you something.”

He disappeared down the hall. After a quick look at Avan, I hurried after him.

Irra led us down hallways that could have been pulled from the Labyrinth, except the smell was musty instead of damp. Stained walls had progressed well beyond peeling, the puckered seams so brittle that they looked about to disintegrate at the slightest touch. The floor creaked and convulsed underneath us. We encountered a couple of girls in the halls. They both wore the same belted, faded-blue tunics with fitted pants, although one of them had altered her tunic by cutting the baggy hem and tying it tight above her hips so that the material hugged her curves. If these people were the Black Rider’s hollows, then DJ was seriously misinformed.

The girls nodded politely to Irra and then to us. When I glanced back, the same red tattoos were visible at the bases of their necks, beneath their matching ponytails.

Irra came to an abrupt halt at the top of a staircase. I skidded on my toes to keep from running into him. Avan steadied me with a hand on my lower back.

It felt different here. That empty feeling returned, stronger, pushing beneath my ribs: gnawing, cramping, ravenous. It dipped cold fingers into my chest.

“You feel that, right?” Avan murmured. I nodded and leaned into his hand, focusing on the warmth of his palm and letting it soak into my skin.

“This is where the walls of Etu Gahl end. For now. It does change.” Irra lifted his hand to indicate we should stay where we were.

We watched from the landing as Irra moved ahead and stood in the middle of a hallway that led to a dead end. I didn’t know what we were waiting for until I looked at his feet. The floor changed beneath him. No, not changed—
aged
.

I looked around. It wasn’t just the floor but the whole hallway. The walls turned from white to yellow to brown; paint bubbled and peeled; mold spread in a dark stain along the crease where the walls met the ceiling and then streaked down to the floor; an entire section of the wall sagged into the beams. In this narrow hallway, time had spilled forward at an unbelievable speed, nothing like what I could do.

But the threads remained undisturbed. Whatever he was doing, it was outside of time. Which didn’t make any sense, but my thoughts were too jumbled to work out what I was seeing.

New objects winked into being as well: end tables covered in lace and then linen and then plaid, set with silver saucers that gradually darkened to brittle brass. Paintings and photographs fastened themselves to the walls, the images fading in and out with new faces until the glass shattered and the wooden frames dwindled to dust. Past the hall where Irra stood, the dead end had given way, and a completely new room had sprung from nowhere.

“The living go to my sister when they pass,” he said. “But Etu Gahl is where ideas and objects come to die. My house is a place of forgotten things.”

Irra glanced back, and I felt his stare inside me, like something alive.

“What are you?” I asked.

“The hunger that cramps your stomach. The decay that shrivels your crops.” He dragged his fingers along the wall. It blistered and rotted beneath his touch. “The shadows that carve into your cheeks.”

He folded his elegant, slender hands at his waist. His golden-brown eyes were soft and warm and terrifying.

“I have been known as Famine. But call me Irra.”