Lark Ascending Read online

  Oren twitched and withdrew back into the shadows of the alleyway. “Spotted us,” he said shortly. “Let’s move.”

  But Kris stayed put. “I told you, this is the rebel-controlled sector. That much hasn’t changed; there’d be Enforcers everywhere if the architects had taken this street. We want the rebels to find us.”

  I wasn’t so sure—just because one side was definitely my enemy didn’t make the other side my friend. But these were the people Kris wanted me to lead, and I couldn’t lead if I stayed hidden in the shadows. I took a deep breath, and before Oren could protest, I stepped out into the street.

  My shadow flew out in front of me, forty feet long in the low-angled light from the setting sun disc. “Is someone there?” I called. “My name is Lark Ainsley—I’m from beyond the Wall.”

  I winced—it wasn’t quite what I’d intended to say. I wasn’t from beyond the Wall, I was from here. This was my home. And yet, that wasn’t strictly true anymore.

  Kris and Oren followed me, their shadows joining mine as it stretched down the empty street. For a few moments there was no response to my hail except silence. But then the door of the apartment building opened and an unfamiliar face peeked out. “Lark Ainsley?” said a voice. “The girl who left?”

  I nodded, my throat dry.

  The door opened wider, revealing a middle-aged woman standing there, staring at me. I didn’t recognize her, but she seemed to know me. “You are,” she breathed, eyes going from me to the boys and back again. “I recognize you from the posters. You’d better come inside before you’re seen.”

  She ushered us through the door and into the lobby of the building. It was dark inside, but the woman crossed over to a bench and retrieved an odd-looking, clunky box with a handle. She grasped the handle and wound vigorously, causing mechanisms inside the device to screech unpleasantly—but when she stopped cranking, a cracked lens on the side of the box emitted a pale gold glow.

  I’d never seen anything quite like it. I could sense magic from it dimly, but only after she’d cranked the handle. Kris didn’t seem surprised, though, and reached for another such device from the bench.

  “Institute cut off all power and oil rations for lighting when we returned from the Wood,” Kris explained, cranking the handle of his own box.

  “We?” The woman turned, peering more closely at him, one eyebrow raised.

  “Figure of speech,” Kris said, handing the mechanical lantern to me. In the dim light, his muddy coat looked more brown than red.

  Kris had told us he’d betrayed the Institute to join the rebels—apparently not everyone knew of the existence of a former architect, and Kris wanted to keep it that way.

  “Well, you’ll want to head down to the base. I don’t recognize your friends, but I recognize you—and if you vouch for these two, that’s good enough for me.”

  “Down?” I asked, shifting my grip on my lantern.

  “Sewers,” the woman replied. “The rebels hide under the city—only place where there’s enough iron to hide them from the pixies.”

  She crossed the lobby floor and opened a door to a tiny, empty back alley dominated by the large manhole cover in the ground. The woman retrieved an iron bar with a hook on the end and looped it into a hole in the cover, then deftly levered it upward with a clang.

  I thanked the woman for her help and lowered myself down until I could drop to the brick tunnel below. Kris and Oren followed, and then the woman handed her lantern down to Kris so we’d have two. As the cover clanged down behind us, I felt Oren let out a long sigh beside me.

  Underground, once again. This time, though, there was a difference. I’d spent my childhood in these tunnels, following Basil and learning them like I knew my own brother. Finally, a spark of excitement flickered in my heart where the emptiness had been.

  Now I was home.

  CHAPTER 7

  The tunnel dead-ended at the manhole to the street, so there was only one direction to go. I didn’t recognize this particular part of the city—we were a few miles from where I’d lived with my family, and I’d never had any reason to sneak into any place on this edge of the city. Still, everything about it was familiar. The feel of the walls close around me, the slick damp under my feet, the smell of wet stone and mildew. Suddenly it was like no time had passed at all since that day I snuck into the school to get a glimpse of the Harvest list.

  I took over from Kris leading the way. He wasn’t any more familiar with this entrance to the rebel hideout than I was, and I was more used to leading than following. Nix flitted ahead, in and out of the circle of lantern light, reporting back with warnings about loose stones and slippery patches. I wished I could see the world as clearly as it could in darkness—I could sense things using magic, but not enough to form a picture of the world complete enough to avoid falling on my face.

  It was only about ten minutes of walking before we came upon a door guarded by a skinny boy leaning against the wall. He straightened when we rounded the curve in the tunnel, and we all stopped for a moment to stare at each other.

  “We’re friends,” I called, hoping to put the kid at his ease. I couldn’t see him clearly, but he couldn’t have been much older than I was.

  “Sure,” the kid called back, raising something clearly weapon-like to point in our direction. “Prove it.”

  I heard Oren growl a low warning behind me, and I took a slow step forward. The last thing I needed was this kid provoking him into warrior mode. “My name is Lark,” I said carefully. “I’ve come back to help in the fight against the Institute.”

  “Lark,” the boy echoed before barking a short, bitter laugh. “Right. And I’m Administrator Gloriette.”

  “Look, if I come closer do you promise not to zap me, or whatever that thing does?”

  The boy didn’t lower the weapon, but dimly I made out a nod at the edge of my ring of lantern light. “Slowly,” he agreed. “And your friends stay where they are.”

  I felt Nix drop off my shoulder and zip back toward Kris, little more than a flash in the gloom, and hoped the kid hadn’t seen it. If pixies were deadly now, having one riding on my shoulder wouldn’t help my case. Carefully, I moved forward, watching the edge of the lantern light climb up the boy’s body until I could see his face.

  I stopped, staring. He was familiar—big ears, long skinny legs, a shock of hair red enough to be visible even in the monochromatic gold light.

  “Tamren?” I gasped.

  His eyes went round as he stared back at me, mouth falling open. In the half a year since he’d carried me away from the Institute in his carriage, he’d changed. He was still gangly, but he’d begun to grow into it, and there was muscle on a frame that had once been stick-thin.

  “It is you,” he breathed, and dropped his weapon.

  It went off with a clatter of springs and machinery, sending something flying at me. I threw myself to the ground as the projectile shot past my face, so close I felt the air stir by my cheek. It glanced off the tunnel wall and went screaming down the tunnel, clattering off the stones a number of times before all went quiet again.

  “Oh god, I’m sorry—” Tamren dropped to his knees, reaching for me.

  “I’m fine,” I managed, raising my voice so that Oren and Kris, who were sprinting in our direction, could hear.

  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 ther
e 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 t
he 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.