The Far Dawn (11 page)

But some, like Alara and other scientists and alchemists within the realms, do not believe that the Paintbrush is safe. They believe that the power unleashed cannot be controlled and will cause certain disaster. This is why the masters have trapped the Terra, because they believe that adding her energy to the process will ensure their safety. She is, they believe, the force of life and the Atlanteans are the highest life-form, and so, by design, she exists to serve them.

Alara and others think this is folly.

And so this plan was formed. Alara could not trust any of the masters, or any in the military, and thus she had to turn to her students; and she has asked this difficult thing of them because they are capable, and because they are just slightly too young to be taken seriously by the masters or their bureaucrats or their generals. And yet they can be lethal, and they are fiery and idealistic and can act on their hearts' passions without compromise.

Lük knows they must act, or all may be lost. Yet with every step closer to the Paintbrush, he wishes more and more that they could turn and run instead.

The three reach the curved walls of the vortex turbines. They hum with potential energy, blue light glowing out through copper gratings. A path between them, paved with giant stones, leads to the Paintbrush.

“Alara said there is venting at the base of the Paintbrush,” says Lük and he pats the heavy bag he carries. “If we place the device there, we can bring down the whole plateau.”

They are about to move, when Kael holds up his hand.

They hear the sound of approaching boots, and now a bright light glows from the tunnel at the far end of the turbines. The soldiers appear, carrying the Heart of the Terra atop poles that they support on their shoulders. They march right past, and Lük can see the Terra, still sitting, eyes closed as if she is meditating.

The soldiers reach the base of the Paintbrush, and then two begin to turn a powerful crank. Gears whine and the crystal cage is lifted until it is even with the center of the long telescope-like cylinder. Another soldier operates a pulley that opens a side panel in the cylinder, and then the cage slides into place. It looks as if the Terra will be used almost like a lens, the energy beamed through her and she will refract it like a prism, though Lük knows it is more complicated than that.

The soldiers finish and head back out, except for two, who remain near the Paintbrush.

Kael nods to Lük and Rana, and then he takes off along the outside of the turbines.

Rana counts silently down from ten, and then motions to Lük with her eyes. They stand and walk out onto the pathway, making no effort to hide themselves.

The guards turn in surprise and then stride toward them, wielding spears. “Stop! Right there.”

A shadow darts out behind them: Kael, both arms cocked back. He snaps first the right, then the left, and throwing blades flash. One guard staggers, crying out, the blade buried in his shoulder. The other is hit in the back of the head and topples over. Rana and Lük break into a run, Lük pulling out his Y-shaped copper slingshot. He loads one of the metal darts, careful not to touch its toxin-coated tip, and shoots it on the run. It catches the staggering guard in the sternum. He looks down at it, already woozy from the shoulder wound, and then collapses.

The three run, and Lük takes the lead. The Paintbrush looms above them now, a marvel of copper and bronze and glass, elegant curves and cylinders, even more impressive close up, with all of its intricacies. Lük can't help but consider that maybe this should be done, maybe they should use this fantastic power. . . .

“There,” says Kael. He's pointing to a round grate at the base of the structure.

Lük shakes away the doubt and kneels. Together, he and Kael remove the grate. There is a row of glowing glass tubes that transport the energy from the turbines. Lük opens the heavy bag he's carried and pulls out a polished block of metallic stone: magnetite. His fingers find a seam in the top and he pulls off a heavy lid, revealing a chamber full of bright yellow powder. He rummages through his bag for a small dagger and a leather satchel that is damp to the touch. He loosens the drawstring and removes a spool of twine, soaked in oil. This will be the fuse for the bomb. He unspools the twine, placing one end in the powder, then he closes the lid, and places the box atop the glass tubes.

He scrambles back from the vent, heart racing, unrolling the twine for a few meters then cutting it. He rummages in the bag one more time and produces a flint.

Kael joins him. “Ready?”

“Yeah,” says Lük. “This is will give us thirty seconds to get up that tunnel.”

“Sure wish we could fly,” says Kael, and the look he shares with Lük says he knows it's not enough time.

Lük sees that Rana is still over by the Paintbrush. She's staring at the wall of wheels and levers and glass tubes. “Rana,” says Lük. “Come on.”

“Wait . . .” She peers closer, her brow furrowed.

“Let's go!” Kael hisses, checking over his shoulder.

But Lük sees Rana's eyes widening. “What is it?” he asks.

“There are handprints . . . ,” she says absently, gazing into the machinery.

“What?” Lük asks.

“Our names,” she adds. Rana's eyes flash to Lük and Kael. She is deathly pale. “Look at this.”

Lük steps cautiously over, his body humming with worry, the fuse shaking in his hand. Kael joins him. Rana points and Lük examines the wall of gadgetry. There in the center is a flat panel with three handprints. They are recessed in metal, and in the handprints, tiny white spikes stick up at regular intervals. I want to tell Lük that I know these all too well. Above each handprint is a name etched in copper:
KAEL, RANA, LÜK
.

“Why are those there?” Kael asks numbly.

“Because they're for you!”

The voice booms through the cavern. Lük whirls to see Master Solan sweeping out of the tunnel, flanked by soldiers. The one beside him holds Alara, her hands bound behind her back. The other masters follow right behind in a procession, hoods up.

“That's right!” Master Solan calls, seeing their stunned faces. “The Paintbrush needs three people to operate it. And who better than you?”

11

“LIGHT THE FUSE!” RANA SHOUTS, HER FACE WHITE. Lük is in shock, and I feel the spike of fear and panic but certainty. . . .
Yes, light the fuse, we will die but it has to be now
—

Only just then he feels a terrible pain and staggers back, a short arrow sunk in his shoulder. The fuse slips from his numb fingers.

And then the guards have reached them. Strong arms fold around Lük's shoulders.

“Yes, well, here we are.” Master Solan strides toward them, hands clasped behind his back. He looks down at Lük's explosive. “Magnet charge. That would definitely have caused some damage. Luckily, you all have reeked of treachery for months, and you”—he turns to Alara—“for years.”

“Ask the Terra whose cause is more treacherous,” she says defiantly.

Solan ignores this. “So, what do you think of my extra design feature? I thought it would be appropriate for you three to be the ones to save us, since you were so determined to ensure our destruction.”

“We'll never help you,” Rana says bravely. “You'll have to kill us.”

Master Solan smiles. “I don't have to kill anyone. You're going to operate the Paintbrush for me.”

“No,” says Lük.

“Really? You sound so certain. . . .” Master Solan keeps smiling. “Bring them in.”

“Solan!” Alara calls. “This isn't necessary.”

Solan turns, his eyes narrowing. “Of course it's not
necessary
, but what good are gods if they are not artful? If they do not teach lessons. And we will be artful gods.”

More soldiers emerge from the tunnel, and they are carrying huge rectangular objects. Steam rises off their glassy surfaces. As they get close, I hear a little moan from Rana.

Lük knows what these are, too.

Caskets.

Coffins made of ice, from the catacombs that the Atlanteans built into the glacier, which holds the dead all the way back to the ancient kings.

There are three huge blocks, water dripping from their sides. The soldiers place them on the ground and slide their heavy, translucent lids off.

Lük tenses all over, and I feel him trying to hide his horror. Lying in the middle casket is Maris, still in his cadet uniform, who died in the Pacifica trade uprising two years ago. Lük can barely breathe, flashing back to the funeral, standing in the icy catacombs, singing the song of the departed with his sobbing parents, his stoic little brother, Elden. . . .

And he knows that the man in the front casket is Rana's father, Marcon, who died suddenly of a wasp allergy, whose twin swords Rana carries. The third casket holds Kael's girlfriend of three years, Diala, murdered by the Assuye sky pirates in a raid on her airship as she returned from her studies in Tulana.

None of the three can speak at first.

“What is this?” Alara asks fearfully.

“Our alchemical studies have revealed an added benefit of this concentrated state of the Terra that we have constructed,” says Master Solan. He moves to the Paintbrush and climbs a spiraling staircase to the crystal cage, where the Terra still sits silent, eyes closed. He pulls a lever and gears begin to whir. There is a sound like scraping rock and the cage begins to glow. The light gains intensity. Solan throws another lever and a thin metal spear shoots into the cube and stabs the Terra in the shoulder. Her eyes flash open, but her expression remains unchanged.

Something brilliant and white flows out of her and down a recess in the spear. Solan produces a small stone cup from his robe and maneuvers it into the machinery. When he climbs down the ladder, Lük can see that the contents of the bowl are a glowing white liquid.

“Blood from the Heart,” says Solan, “the essence of life itself.” He steps over to Marcon's casket and pours a single drop of the glowing liquid between Marcon's frozen purple lips. He moves on, doing the same to Maris and Diala.

“What are you doing?” Rana asks weakly.

“I am showing you the power that we have harnessed, which can be yours.”

Lük, Rana, and Kael stare at their lost relatives, and in Lük I can feel the pain flooding out of a locked room, all the sorrow he felt, the regret that his brother was in the wrong place at the wrong time, the guilt that Lük hadn't been there to fight alongside him . . .

And then, white light begins to glow all over Maris, spreading from his chest out to his fingers and toes, glowing up in a corona over his heart.

In a fit, his chest moves.

His eyes open.

All I can think of is Elissa, rising from the cryo tube, a horror returned.

But Maris's eyes look human, normal. He coughs wickedly, and then, incredibly, sits up stiffly and looks around, his skin still blue. One of the soldiers faints. Another rushes to the side of the nearest turbine and vomits.

“Where am I?” Maris croaks with dry vocal cords.

It happens to Marcon. It happens to Diala, and then all of them are awake, alive, back from the dead and looking around, and trying to understand this place they are in, these coffins . . .

And the three are watching their loved ones return.

“Dad . . . ,” Rana breathes, crying.

“Di,” says Kael, shaking all over.

“Maris,” Lük says, the shock rendering him nearly mute.

“This is the power of the Heart of the Terra,” says Solan proudly. “The Paintbrush can bring back the whole planet, and then we can achieve our greatest yearning, overcome life's greatest foe. We can conquer death.”

“You don't know the consequences of the power,” says Alara quietly, trembling at the sight of the resurrections.

Solan ignores her. He looks at the three. “This is my gift to you. In return, you will run the Paintbrush for me. Please, don't make me beg.”

Lük and Rana and Kael share overwhelmed, teary glances. This is too much, and to have these loved ones returned. . . .

“Rana? Is that you?” Just the sound of her father's voice is tearing her apart. “What is all this? I was in Pacifica, that wasp nest by the beach. . . .”

“Kael, there were pirates. . . .”

“We swore to protect the Terra,” says Kael, staring at Lük and Rana and not at Diala, as if looking at her would undo him completely.

“I know,” says Lük.

“Lük, brother, what are you d—” Maris's words are drowned out in a choking fit. He grabs his neck and starts to double over.

It happens to Marcon and Diala, too. They contort, their combined struggles for breath deafening.

“What's happening?” Rana screams, her sanity shredding.

“I only gave them enough to find their way back to this life again,” says Master Solan. “If you want them to remain here, then please activate the Paintbrush.”

“Oh, gods, I can't, I can't,” Rana sobs.

I feel Lük exploding inside, crushed—he can't lose his brother again, can't bear that emptiness. And I feel him thinking, trying to tell himself that they don't know that the Paintbrush
won't
work. They don't know and maybe it will be all right. Maybe it will make things better, but even if it doesn't, at least they will have their loved ones back. . . .

It is Kael who steps to the handprints first. His eyes are glued to Diala now. “I'm sorry.” He stares at his love, shaking with each choking gasp she makes.

Lük and Rana join him.

As Lük places his palm against the tips of the white spikes, he gazes up at the Terra and thinks,
I'm so sorry
.

The Terra gazes down at him.
Beware the gods and their horrors
, she says, but again, I am the only one who hears it.

Lük presses. His hand ignites in burning. I know this pain. Rana hisses as she does the same, and Kael, and the pain grows and the blood flows.