The outlaws shuffle back from me as I climb to my feet.
I feel their frustration, their anger, their awe. None of them will touch me now.
The reeking motley and leather of Goldbeard's massive body looms before me; behind me lies Fire Lake. I
see trophies hanging from his vest--jewelry, coins, teeth with inlaid gems. In the moment of hot silence that hangs between us, I hear a familiar tinkling chime. My eyes find its source--the watch, my father's antique timepiece. In my mind I see HK tucking it into his sleeve pocket. "You fool!"
I mumble. "You fool."
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Goldbeard eyes me warily, his hand covering the watch.
I thrust my own hand out. "Give that to me. It belongs to me."
He flinches back as if I hold a weapon. I see the fresh blood welling on my bloodstained palm, from the places where the trefoil tore my skin. He is afraid of my blood, of contamination. I step forward, holding out my hand.
"Give it to me!"
He gives me the watch. A murmur of consternation passes among his men.
My eyes burn and blur as I look at the watch; my parched throat is so tight I cannot swallow.
"Where
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. . . where did you get this?"
"Off a couple pieces of sidda shit." He laughs.
"Did you kill them?" The words feel like paper in my mouth, dry and meaningless.
Goldbeard shrugs.
I blink and blink my eyes.
"No, we didn't," one of the others says. "They were Kharemoughis. We took them back to Sanctuary and sold them."
Goldbeard pulls at his mustache. "Yeah. What you want with them, sibyl?"
"They're my brothers."
"And they stole your watch?" His mouth quirks.
"They stole more than that." My hand makes a fist; blood drips. "Take me to Sanctuary."
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"You think you got a choice?" He signals to his men, and their weapons surround me. "Maybe you infected, but you not immortal. Keep it in mind."
"What are we gonna do with him, then?" one of the outlaws asks.
"Let Song decide," Goldbeard answers. They lead me down the beach to their rover.
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We rise up and up on the erratic currents of heated air.
Fire Lake reaches as far as I can see. Its surface shifts and flows like the face of the sun, now in sharp detail, now soft and amorphous. I rub my eyes.
As the shore disappears into the heat-haze behind us, I see something born out of the shimmering play of light ahead. A monolith of red stone rises from the center of the Lake. As we draw near it, I see water falling from its heights, plumes of liquid transfiguring into clouds as
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they meet the Lake's surface far below. My parched throat aches at the sight of it. I ask someone for a drink.
The outlaws ignore me. The rover circles like a carrion bird high in the air, then spirals downward toward a landing.
There are buildings below, I realize at last. They are almost invisible, because they have been gouged and piled up out of the red stone itself. And then jumbled.
Jagged boulders, fissures and irregularities, are fused randomly into building walls, layered between levels of mortared stone, transforming an unnatural intrusion into an artless act of chaos. They are ruins--but like no ruins I have ever known. Cleaving their heart is a twisting cross of deep canyons. Where the canyons meet is a fountainhead. Water rises out of a hidden wellspring, flows over the rock face and falls from its precipice into fire, only to rise again--
We land easily on a flat slab of stone near the canyon's edge. There are other flyers and rovers there already-- I feel surprise when I see so many. I wonder dimly how many still belong to their original owners.
I look over the canyon's edge as we leave the rover.
The water far below is as clear as crystal, and in its
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depths I see the red rock stained with cool, mossy greens.
Where the canyons cross, something silvery catches the sun. The water undulates sinuously as it flows, and at first I can't think why it looks so strange. Then I realize 136
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that the glistening water surface clings to the contours of the stone as it flows along the canyon bottom, defying gravity and all reason. The wonder and the beauty of it leave me astonished.
When I wake up, I must remember this. . . .
Goldbeard and his men lead me through the ruined town, along a rough path that follows the canyon's rim.
The heat is like something alive, riding my back. I stagger under its burden. The other quarters of the town dance and swim; they seem insubstantial as I look back at them across the chasm. I search for a familiar face, for any face-- There is almost no living being anywhere.
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Only a few ragged, shuffling wretches pass us by, never looking up. Some wear chains. "Where is everyone?"
"You'll see," one of the outlaws answers behind me.
From somewhere in the distance I hear a wail of agony or madness. He pushes me to make me walk faster.
Soon we have left the town behind, following the canyon toward the rim of the plateau. I begin to hear more voices in the distance. As we near the rim I see the gathering: Human forms waver in the heated air. A bizarre platform hung with gossamer flags floats above them; at first I think it is a mirage.
But it isn't. As we join the crowd at last 1 see the platform still adrift, hovering impossibly in the air above the cliff. Beside us the canyon ends, and the waterfall plunges over the scarp and down.
Rainbows ride on the clouds of steam that billow up below us. Fire Lake is bright like the surface of the sun.
On the silk-wreathed platform a strange pantomime is taking place. A woman stands there, cloaked in red/
gold brocaded cloth that gleams in the sun. She is like a mirror reflecting fire, like a vision.
Before her are three very mortal men, their hands bound behind them, roped
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together at the waist. They are arguing about something, denying some accusation, blaming each other. I realize
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finally that the shining woman is there to pass judgment on them, like a priestess, or a queen. The crowd watches, murmuring its anticipation, until the three men have finished their protests.
Then, suddenly, Goldbeard shouts out, "What is the truth?"
The shining woman lifts her arms and stiffens like someone going into a trance. Her voice rises Page 106
eerily, filling the sudden silence that has fallen over the crowd. She speaks incoherently; her voice changes and changes again as it tries to contain a dozen other voices. At first nothing happens to the three men waiting before her.
But then suddenly the distortion of the heated air around them seems to intensify; the crowd cries out in ecstasy and terror.
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