The Sowing

After about fifteen more minutes of forging through the brushwood, we find the remnants of a statue. At first I think it’s a miniature version of the Lady, only without her crown or torch. But this is something different. A beautiful woman with wings—or at least one wing. The other has long since crumpled away. Even so, she retains her dignity, and in spite of her battered condition, she looks like she could still soar through the sky.

An angel.

Maybe she’s a sign that what I imagined is true. That Cole is all right after all, and he, Digory, and I will someday be together forever.

We gaze at her for a few minutes, then trudge on through the thicket.

“There it is, over there.”

Just beyond another tangle of trees, puffs of dark smoke smear the sky.

In spite of the uneven terrain, we pick up our pace until we’re jogging through the undergrowth and finally burst through the last of the trees.

The lushness is gone, replaced by an endless horizon of hollowed-out structures that jut from the sludge of half-flooded streets.

And directly ahead, the mangled carcass of a Vulture craft rests on its side like a felled beast, still smoking and sparking, halfway embedded into the closest of these structures.

Only it’s not just any Vulture.

My fingers dig into Digory’s arm. “Those markings on the tail end—it’s the regal seal. That ship’s carrying high-ranking personnel.”

Before Digory can react, I’m running toward the Vulture, skirting chunks of debris, my hand over my mouth to avoid inhaling the thick smoke that’s already drawing burning tears from my eyes. I peer through the haze and into the Vulture’s belly. There’s a ragged gash there rimmed with twisted, melting metal, as if the craft’s been ripped open and eviscerated.

Careful not to touch the smoking edges, I strain against the haze blanketing the passenger cabin.

A shadow of movement inside. A low groan pierces the crackle and hiss of the flames.

I cough out a lungful of smoke. “We got a live one!”

Digory’s hand clamps on my shoulder and I turn to him.

He points to me, shakes his head, then holds out a palm in a stop motion. Then he points to himself and motions in the direction of the moans.

“It’s okay, Digory. I can go. You don’t have to protect me. I can handle myself. Promise.” I barely get the words out before I have to stifle another cough.

The muscles in his jaws clench and he shakes his head again.

I wink. “Trust me. I’ll be fine.” His grip relaxes, but the concern never leaves his face.

I nod and slip from him, gritting my teeth when my skin grazes the steaming hull as I crawl through the opening. Between the gloom and the smog it takes me a few seconds to get my bearings. Then I spot the survivor’s silhouette a few feet away and crawl as fast as I can to the person’s side.

It’s Prime Minister Talon herself.

She’s barely conscious. For a split second I’m tempted to leave her behind to burn. But she might be able to provide me with useful information. Maybe she knows where I can hitch a transport back to the Parish. And she’d be a valuable hostage if we run into any Imps.

The smoke and heat start to get to me. I hoist Talon’s arm around my neck and lift, half-carrying, half-dragging her to the opening where Digory’s waiting to receive my burden.

“Don’t let this one out of your sight,” I tell him.

“Wait,” she rasps into my ear. “There’s someone else…” She lapses into unconsciousness.

Shoving Talon into Digory’s arms, I spin and rummage through the flotsam and jetsam of twisted safety harnesses and toppled supply containers, slinging an emergency medical backpack over my shoulder before finding the other survivor.

Even before I reach him, the sight of his outline lying still strapped to a seat makes me feel like I’ve been shot by a flare gun. It’s not an Imp.

I kneel by the body, grip it roughly, and flip it over.

“Cassius…” I can barely pull the name from my burning throat.

Blood trickles from a gash just above his eyebrow, past a cheek that’s already swollen and purple. At first I think he’s already dead. But a quick feel of his wrist confirms that there’s still wretched life wriggling through his veins with each weak beat of his pulse.

His eyes flutter open. There’s a few seconds of blankness as he struggles to focus. Then recognition dawns on his face, and his smile turns my stomach.

“Lucky… you came back for me. You saved me…”

He reaches up for me, and I recoil. It’s so easy to place my hands around his slimy neck…

“Can’t breathe.” Cassius’s fingers claw at my hands, snug around his throat. His eyes widen, sprouting thin red blood vessels like a road map to his fear. “Please…”

I squeeze his throat tighter.

“Lucky… I know… where there’s… another ship…”

Cursing myself, I release my stranglehold and lift Cassius into my arms, dragging his dead weight past Digory. Once I’ve exited the Vulture, I hurl him to the ground.