Lark Ascending (7 page)

Nix came streaking toward me, mechanisms buzzing wildly with concern, and Tamren scrambled backward.

“Pixie!” he choked, fumbling for his weapon in a panic. “Stop! Tamren—it's a friend. It's
my
friend.”

He paused, wide eyes going from me to Nix as it collided with my shoulder, scrabbling up to check my cheek where the projectile had so nearly hit me. “A friend,” he echoed. “Miss Lark—what the hell is going on?”

“Perhaps the explanations can wait until we're inside.” Oren spoke up. I could hear the tension behind his speech and knew Tamren had not made the best first impression by nearly killing me. “Night is falling, and apparently not all the pixies out there are friends.”

Tamren looked from me to the boys, then nodded as he clambered back to his feet and offered me a hand. I let him pull me up, then stood back as he turned to the door. Though it was crudely fit to the stone, it was thick and solid. The opening mechanism was complex, and I lifted my lantern a little higher in an effort to watch him as he pressed a series of levers in a deliberate order. I wasn't sure if I could recreate the pattern, but I tried to commit it to memory anyway.

The door swung open, and Tamren led us into the base.

Once inside, we began to pass other rebels. There were more intersections now, different pathways, and rooms that used to house the ancient machinery that operated the sewers when they were in use, long before the Wall went up. My mind dredged up images of my time in Lethe, living in the spaces between the walls, being a part of that rebellion.

What could I hope to accomplish here? In Lethe we
won
, and yet it had changed nothing. The Renewables were still in danger. The ordinary people still lived in fear of the outside world. All of this was a cycle just repeating itself over and over. How many times would I have to fight this same battle?

Tamren peppered me with questions, and though I longed to reach whoever was in charge and tell my story just the one time, I tried to answer what I could. Yes, I was back for good. Yes, I was going to lead the rebels. Yes, I had ideas on how to fight the Institute. No, I didn't know about the revolution until I found Kris. Yes, Kris was my friend.

Tamren seemed to recognize Kris after hearing his name, which put some of my unease to rest. When the woman above hadn't recognized him, I'd begun to wonder if he'd been telling the truth about fighting on the side of the rebels. Now I was beginning to wonder just how extensive this revolution was, if there were so many members that they didn't all know each other.

Eventually we emerged from a tunnel into a large cistern full of bustling people. It seemed to be some kind of communal workshop—makeshift tables dotted the area, some covered with papers and books, others with machinery in various states of disrepair. I thought of the neat, tidy War Room in Lethe, the quiet deliberation of Wesley and the other leaders there—this couldn't have been more different. Every bit of this was cobbled together, and even the people looked grimy and worn down.

Tamren seemed proud, though. “This is the heart of the resistance,” he said. “There are other cells that operate in other sectors of the city, but this is the Hub.” Now that he said it, the room reminded me a little of a wheel, the arched ceiling of the cistern branching out like spokes, each little section of the room devoted to a different task.

“Where is everyone?” Kris asked, looking around. The room seemed full of people to me—those closest to us were glancing at me, some staring longer than others. Recognizing me the way the woman above had.

“The brass?” Tamren's smile faded a little. “They're out on a mission. They were due back this morning, but there's been no word.”

“All of them, at the same time? Who's in charge?”

“No one, I guess, right now,” said Tamren. “It's a big job. Biggest yet. Really dangerous.”

I glanced at Kris, feeling less certain by the moment. All the key resistance members, out on the same big, dangerous mission, leaving no one specific in charge? No wonder Kris thought they needed a real leader.

“I guess we wait until they come back,” Kris said, not quite meeting my eye.

We'd drawn a bit of a crowd as more and more people recognized me. I could hear whispers rising and falling like the rush of insect song at dusk, could feel the heat of dozens of eyes on my face.

Tamren turned to face the crowd. “This is Lark Ainsley—the girl who left. She's come back to help us fight.”

The whispers turned to murmurs and gasps, and I felt my cheeks threatening to burn under the weight of their wonder. This wasn't the first time I'd been at the center of a spectacle, but this time I was ready. More ready, anyway.

I drew breath, hunting for the right words with which to make my first impression on these poorly led people. Before I could speak, however, a cry rose up at the back of the crowd.

Though I couldn't hear the words called, those closer did, and the whole crowd surged away, erupting into cheers. “They're back!” I heard one man shout, and I realized that the “brass” Tamren mentioned must have returned.

“She's here—” Another voice, cut off by the jostling crowd.

“They found her!”

“Thank god, we're saved.”

The crowd pressed in around us, the current carrying us forward as they rushed to greet their returning leaders. I lost sight of Kris in the surge, and Oren kept by me only by grabbing me around the waist and pressing close.

The crowd must've gotten confused, thought that the brass were the ones who brought me here. It was a coincidence only, but the overflowing relief and excitement of the crowd was too strong for me to shout over them, so I let them carry us along until I saw a gap in the crowd.

Oren and I battled our way forward until we could stumble free, into a ring cleared around a number of people who'd just emerged from one of the tunnel entrances. I fought for breath, hanging onto Oren's arm and blinking as I tried to focus.

There were maybe half a dozen people there, two of whom seemed to be injured but still standing, wearing bandages spotted with crimson. There were men and women, and one figure wrapped up in a robe and a blanket over the shoulders. At the head of the group stood a man who—I stopped, staring.

I recognized him, but only barely. His once-feeble mustache had spread into a thick beard concealing the lower half of his face. One eye was covered by a brown patch tied on around his head, and he looked about a decade older than I remembered. As a child I'd found him intimidating—now he was utterly terrifying.

His one good eye swung over and landed on me, then widened. “Lark?” he whispered hoarsely.

I swallowed, my throat so dry I nearly choked. “Caesar?”

My older brother and I stared at each other for a private eternity as my mind raced with questions. What was Caesar, the Institute's most loyal Enforcer and the man who betrayed his own sister for them, doing at the head of the resistance? Was he a spy? Did the others know he'd once been an Enforcer? Did they know the role he'd played in my flight from the city?

Before either of us could speak, one of the other members of the team stepped up and murmured in Caesar's ear. He muttered a curse and turned to look at the robed figure, then straightened, eyes passing over me so he could address the crowd.

“Members of the resistance,” he bellowed, summoning an instant hush. “Many of you know that we embarked three days ago on a mission to infiltrate the Institute.”

Though there were a few gasps, most of the crowd just murmured and nodded, leaning forward, hanging on Caesar's every word.

“What you don't know is why we risked so much to get inside—we couldn't risk any of them learning our true purpose. Well, friends, I have the great honor of telling you all that our mission was a success. We've found her—our savior. We can win this fight.”

Where had this orator come from? I remembered Caesar as a lazy, petty man. But listening to him speak, I felt my own heart stirring. Even I believed him when he said they'd found her.

I blinked. Found her? Was Caesar talking about me? Baffled, I looked around until I spotted Kris, who had emerged on the opposite side of the crowd and was staring at me. I wanted to ask him what Caesar was talking about, and how he could claim I was the product of their mission, but he was too far away. Still, as I watched him, something about the set of Kris's mouth and the pallor of his face made me realize something was badly wrong—something he had not seen coming.

Caesar turned until he could reach for the robed figure, his movements startlingly gentle. I'd never seen Caesar treat anyone so carefully before, and my heart twinged with something I barely recognized as envy. He helped the figure move to the front of the group, then pulled the blanket away and tossed it to one of the other brass. The figure laid a hand on Caesar's arm and straightened.

“I can stand,” said a low, musical voice—a female voice. “Thank you, Caesar.”

Bowing her head, the woman lifted her hands and pushed back the hood of her robe.

It was the Renewable. In the golden, artificial light she glowed like the sun disc itself. Every inch of her was white—her hair, her lips, the irises of her eyes—gleaming as she had the day I saw her last, suspended in the Institute's cage of glass. She shone like the Star standing guard over Lethe. I gasped, falling back a pace; she wasn't just blinding to my eyes, but to my magic as well. Far more powerful than any Renewable I'd ever seen, she was so strong I didn't even need to switch to my second sight to sense it—her magic bled over into the physical realm, emanating from every pore.

“Hello,” she said, lifting her chin as her white, empty eyes swept over the crowd and her mouth curved to a tired, gentle smile. “My name is Eve.”

With a jolt, I realized I knew that name. Her strange eyes fell on me—and there was an instant spark of recognition. She knew me; but more shocking, I knew her. Knew her as more than the creature of light that helped me escape the Institute. I could
feel
her, as though a tiny yet tangible thread connected us. I could sense her thoughts churning just out of reach, like movement on the other side of a curtain.

The dreams I'd been having with increasing frequency the closer I got to my home—they were memories. Eve's. The Renewable's. I was reliving her arrival in the city again and again, for reasons I couldn't explain.

Her tired smile faded, but I felt warmth as she gazed at me, a very real tingling that spread over me, bathing me in light. Around us the crowd surged, voices rising and falling with questions, exclamations; but I heard none of it. I couldn't take my eyes off of her. I stood, shaken, staring.

“Welcome home, sister,” she whispered to me from across the cavern.

Caesar hollered at the crowd gathered around to make a path, and he ushered Eve along at his side. Glancing over his shoulder, his eye fell on me, and he summoned me to follow with a jerk of his chin. He moved with a limp, turning away to move toward a tunnel. I realized I was still holding Oren's arm, and from the confusion on his face I knew he hadn't sensed the same thing I had from Eve.

I was stretched thin, wrung out—something about Eve had made me weak at the knees. Perhaps it was the revelation that my dreams had come from a real person, that I was sharing someone's memories. I stumbled forward a step, my feet tingling with pins and needles.

“Help me,” I muttered to Oren, who started, looking down at my face. Though he hadn't had the same reaction to Eve that I had, he could tell instantly that something wasn't right. His grip shifted until he was half supporting me, and then he led the way through the crowd, worming our way forward.

Kris met us along the way, and the three of us shoved through the crowd in Caesar's wake until we emerged into a tunnel leading away from the Hub. I was starting to feel a little more steady, but I was relieved when Caesar turned off toward what had clearly once housed machinery, but was now a small room furnished with battered sofas and chairs. He eased Eve down onto a cot as Oren found a chair for me. I was struck by the similarities in the gestures, and again by Caesar's uncharacteristic devotion. I found myself watching his face, as much fascinated by the changes there as I was trying to avoid looking at Eve again.

When Caesar turned back, I expected him to have a thousand questions for me. Instead his good eye fixed on Kris and widened in surprise. “You're not dead,” he exclaimed, leaning forward.

Kris declined to choose a seat. He also didn't answer, glancing at me.

“Why would you think he was dead?” I asked finally, breaking the silence.

“He used to be our man on the inside,” said Caesar, eye narrowing. “But one day he just never reported back. We assumed he'd been found out and Adjusted.”

“I left to try to find help,” Kris spoke up, his voice tight. “I thought the Renewables in the Iron Wood might be on our side, given what the Institute tried to do to them. The enemy of our enemy ought to be our friend.”

“Should've filled us in,” grunted Caesar. He was still as gruff as ever—more so, in fact. I knew I was staring, but couldn't help it. He was so familiar and so strange all at the same time. He leaned against the wall, reaching down with one arm to massage the muscle in his bad leg, grimacing.

“I saw my chance to steal a crystal and took it,” replied Kris, reaching inside his coat to pull out a thick, chunky pendant on a long chain. It was dull and quiet now, its power all used up, but I recognized it as magic storage, to keep him human outside the Wall. “No time to report back.”

“Well?” Caesar didn't seem all that relieved to see Kris, but his interest was clearly piqued. “What'd they say?”

“They were gone,” Kris said. His eyes flickered to the side, and I knew he was fighting the urge to look at me.