Lucinda

 

Sunlight in her face woke her. Lucie raised a hand, confused as to the cause of the bright light but ready to fight. Not a guard shining a light in her eyes. Just the sun. 

Last night she fell asleep with her head on Ertale’s lap and covered in a crude blanket woven from leaves. Surprisingly, she felt good. Not stiff at all from all the walking or the awkward sleeping position. Even her hand felt good. She flexed it and poked at the bandage covering a thick layer of salve. Her hand was healing and not inflamed or bleeding.

Sarsen entered the hut, carrying a steaming cup. “Tea,” he said, setting it on the ground before her.

“It’s not poisoned, is it?” she asked.

“Not today,” Sarsen answered with candor.

“Fair enough.” She drank the tea, careful to avoid the leaves and thinking that Sarsen would almost be handsome if he wasn’t such a grumpy butthead.

 

***

 

The trip up the mountain proved uneventful. Her valos insisted she be fed, bathed, dressed in another disco inferno inspired gown, fed again and given a tour of the city. She tried to impress upon them that she wasn’t some fragile doll that needed to be entertained every moment of the day, but given what she’d learned last night, they were thirsty for the company. Well, Asche and Ertale were glad for the company. Sarsen, not so much.

When Asche announced his plans to take her to the market, Sarsen grumbled about sorting out the vault.

Fine. He had work to do. Gigantic ghost cities in a volcano didn’t run themselves.

As they explored the City in the Caldera, ‘ghost city’ was the only way to describe it. She’d felt it the day she arrived but now knew that the buildings were built, furnished, never occupied and were suspended in an infinite holding pattern for a conquering people that would never arrive. Abandoned before it could live, the entire place set her on edge.

The market was a long strip of shops with glass doors that folded open, letting the shop’s contents spill directly onto the sidewalk. Most shops were empty, but a few held dusty goods.

“If no one lived here, why have a market?” Lucie inspected a display of delicate figurines sculpted out of the glowing sunstone. Grazing animals like gazelle perched on thin legs, moving gently through a grass plain.

“Our tribe has always traded with the other tribes,” Asche said. “The sunstones were a valuable building material.”

“Were?”

“We mined the raw stones, but crafters kindled the fire to make them works of art.” He picked up the gazelle. It glowed brighter in his hand and lifted its head. Lucie swore she could see it breathe. “The other tribes brought us cloth, foodstuffs, wine, and precious metals. Once the Creators left, they stopped coming to trade.”

“And you stopped mining?”

“Once we finished construction, there was little reason to continue.”

The gazelle ran in place, never leaving Asche’s palm.

“How are you doing that?”

He shrugged. “We each have our talents. I am Shaper.”

“You… shape.”

“Yes. Some can use the properties of our element for destruction, like Sarsen. I can use it to build.”

“You build...with fire.”

He set the gazelle down carefully, the figurine cooling and settling into one pose. Asche went to the door. “I shape.” He dragged a finger down the doorway. The stone material rippled, as if it were water and not stone.

“But how are you doing that?”

“Very small, very concentrated energy that we cannot see. Energy is released as heat, the material softens, and I shape it to what I will.”

“Holy shit,” she said. He described manipulation on the molecular level. He heated vibrated atoms and heated them and...and… Ertale made a bubble of flame to protect them—her—at the river. The puppet show mimed valo soldiers shooting fireballs. “You can all do this?”

“On some level or another. I explained this.” Asche worked a scrolling design in to the doorway, turning the functional into ornament.

“Right, but shadow puppets are one thing. It’s quite another to see it happen.”

“How did you think I manipulated the puppets?”

He had her there. Last night Lucie hadn’t questioned the figures that rose out of the smoke and embers of the fire. “I was tired.”

She blushed at the pathetic excuse. This world was more than it seemed, and she needed to pay attention if she was going to find a way home.

Fed once again, Lucie was sent to the massive bed in her luxurious apartment. Alone in her soft, clean bed, warm and with a full stomach, it had been the single greatest day in recent memory.

The next day, Lucie inspected the remains of the radio. She sat with her back to the bubbling pool of lava, or whatever marvel it really was, and ignored the valos in the vault arguing. Sarsen wanted Asche to construct something, she didn’t catch all their conversation, but neither one was satisfied with the results.

She spread out the radio’s remains.

It was bad.

The radio’s casing split down the center. That she knew. Further disassembly revealed a cracked board that looked important. Right. She disassembled the parts and cleaned them of debris. She didn’t need it to work forever, just once. Maybe she’d get lucky and the cracked board could work once more before frying or shorting out.

She nicked the meaty part of her palm on the sharp edge of the broken casing, but it did not appear bad enough to stop working. She pressed her hands to her thighs until the bleeding stopped. Another dress ruined.

Lucie found a kit with smaller tools for delicate work. Technical work. The handles were nearly the correct size for her hand and she didn’t mind the cramping pain too badly as she put the pieces back together.

She found a soldering iron and reattached the board, careful not to break any circuits.

Satisfied, she stacked it back together. Pretty wasn’t an option. She just needed it to work. She itched to turn it on but held herself back. Reception in the mountain had to suck. She needed to be outside if the resurrected device had any hope of making contact.

Carefully, she bundled it all together and set off for the city’s entrance.

Cool air whipped around her, her dark hair tangling around her face. She set the device down on the ground before rubbing her sweating hands on her thighs. The fabric of today’s gown—a black and red umber halter dress that showed remarkable restraint—wasn’t designed to cope with sweating palms.

Lucie switched it on. The machine hummed to life. She released the breath she didn’t knew she had been holding.

The interface was a cracked, half illegible screen. She flicked on the speaker. She’d broadcast on the first frequency and try the next. “Hello. I’m a survivor of the Concord. Is anyone out there?”

Static hissed and popped. It was something.

She pressed a distorted button on the screen, moving to the next frequency. “Hello, hello? Can anyone hear me?”

More static.

She pressed the screen again. This time the device made a high-pitched whirring noise before shutting down.

“No, no no.” Lucie took it apart quickly. Maybe it had overheated. Maybe it needed to rest. Maybe she’d put it back together wrong or something shorted.

She tried again. The machine was lifeless; dead.

“Fuck!” She jumped to her feet, wanting to kick or punch or throw something. She found a stone and tossed it as hard as she could.

It wasn’t satisfying at all.

Nothing ever went right. Something always screwed up, and it was her own damned fault, and now she was stuck on this planet with its two moons and fire manipulating locals, one of whom couldn’t stand her, one who couldn’t stop flirting, and the third didn’t speak.

She needed to think. The plan was still viable, it just had to be adjusted, that was all. She needed to be flexible; needed to make her thinking flexible.

She might have swung the hammer that broke the radio, but Halliday was the one who used their hope of rescue as a shield.

Fucking Halliday.

She’d whack him in the head all over again if she had the chance.

“Piece of junk.” This time she kicked the radio, scattering the electronic components on the ground.

She resisted the urge to jump up and down; grind the broken parts under the shoes. It could still be used. Maybe. The city had hundreds of workshops, and the people who built the city, or ordered it built, had a freaking spaceship. There had to be radio technology. Maybe the parts she needed were in one of the workshops, but she needed to clear her head and not destroy her only shot at getting home in a damn tantrum.

Easier said than done.

She walked away. It was all she could do until she cooled off.

In a rage, she sped through the city, seeing nothing and noticing little. Every step recounted all her mistakes. Every step was an accusation. She was selfish and lazy. She didn’t double check her work. She was sloppy.

The old scars on her neck burned and itched.

She was ugly inside and out. She got what she deserved.

Her hands rested against the balustrade in the plaza with the statues. Below, the lake of magma bubbled. It was a stunning view, if unnatural.

There had to be a way to fix the radio. She lifted her eyes to the tallest tower in the city. The metal spire gleamed.

If she couldn’t fix the radio to transmit, maybe there was a way to listen. Sheenika had a spaceship. There had to be something in that tower similar to her busted device. Radio waves were universal, after all.

There were other survivors. Halliday waited for them to clear off before he retrieved her, so she knew it was fact and not cruel manipulation. They were out there, trying to make contact.

She just needed to listen.

A low-pitched snarl snagged her attention.

A rock dragged itself across the plaza, two great arms slamming down into the stone and then pulling the rest of itself forward. Wait, not a rock. The head of the creature was hammer shaped with a single, molten eye. It was wedge shaped and covered in rocky outcrops. Beneath the stony surface was pure fire. And its legs were…

Missing, just a congealed puddle of magma, as if it were only half transformed.

The creature of living magma prowled around Lucie, assessing a new interloper in its territory.

It rumbled, harsh like rocks tumbling down a slope. Drawing closer, its body hunched down, then stood on two newly formed legs.

This wasn’t going to end well.

 

Ertale

 

Watching Lucie proved more challenging than Ertale had anticipated. His attention had been divided between her taking apart her broken box, and Sarsen and Asche bickering. Sarsen wanted to sift through the heartstones and separate the helplessly damaged stones from the repairable and the intact ones.

The heartstones on the bottom of the pile were the first tossed into the vault. They landed hard on the stone floor, cracking with tiny fissures. As more stones were added, the combined weight crushed the most damaged stones.

Those valos were lost.

Other heartstones had cracks and might be repaired. Sarsen wanted them placed in a tray designed to prevent movement. Asche constructed the trays easily, but his brothers disagreed on how to reach the heartstones at the bottom without disturbing or damaging the stones on top.

Asche wanted to sort from the top down.

Sarsen insisted the ones on the bottom were the most critical and likely to die entirely if they wasted time tending to perfecting intact heartstones.

They were both correct, but no one asked Ertale his opinion.

When he left the vault, Lucie had wandered off. Again. She seemed incapable of staying in one place for long, always moving, always thinking.

He liked it. She was alive in a way he had not felt in a millennia. She made him feel alive when he held her in his arms. 

Her scent was easy to track; cool water and grassy green banks of a river. She didn’t stray far, only going to the Plaza of the Creators. Lucie, however, was not alone.

The foul stench of ferix polluted the air, along with an unknown element, but it was the ferix that concerned him. Unnatural creatures, ferix were formed when toxic runoff from the forge mingled with the magma. Its form changed, based solely on whatever poor creature plunged into the magma last. Normally small creatures, they lumbered out of the toxic slurry of their creation, hungering despite not being truly alive or even having a stomach. Always hungry.

Ferix were kin to the valos in the broadest sense. They were both born in a toxic soup, but only the valos retained their sense of self. The ferix were near mindless brutes.

And one of those brutes prowled after Lucie.

Ferix hunted in packs which meant the others were close. He could handle two without trouble but more and he would not be able to defend Lucie and defeat them. He needed assistance. He needed to call out to his brothers.

The ferix closest to Lucie caught her attention. It imitated her bipedal posture. He knew this ploy. With Lucie distracted, the rest of the pack would attack.

Frustration welled within him. After a thousand wasted years, he had a bond mate. He could not lose her. He would not be alone. Never again. His head tipped back, and the force of his will tore sound from his useless throat for the first time in countless seasons.  A great bellow echoed off the walls of the volcano.

Ertale stomped his foot, cracking the paving stones, and propelled himself forward. As he moved, his armor rippled along his skin, burning in a short, sharp burst of agony and transforming himself for battle. The ferix twitched and the rest of the pack sprang from the magma. Seeing herself surrounded, Lucie screamed.

The ferix lunged.

It slammed into Ertale’s shield. Maintaining the defense from this distance was too difficult. He needed to be closer. He was quick, but the ferix were quicker. They could eviscerate Lucie in a heartbeat. He could not defend her against a pack.  

A wild cry split the air. Sarsen dropped onto the back of a ferix, blazing sword driving between its shoulder blades. The ferix cried and bucked. Sarsen rolled away, leaving behind the sword.

He jumped to his feet in a fluid motion and fiery swords appeared in both hands. His eyes burned bright, and he nodded to Ertale, who took a defensive stance.

They worked together with the effortless skill formed from several lifetimes of practice. Ertale hit with the blunt force of his mace and blocked with the shield. Sarsen’s fiery swords slashed with precision. In quick order, the foe fell at their feet in a stinking pile. They required prompt disposal, or the fallen ferix would attract more predators.

“What did you do?” Sarsen turned to Lucie, anger in his every move. She pressed herself against Ertale’s side, face buried.

Sarsen grabbed her by the wrist. Applying a small amount of pressure, he forced her to open her hands. The palms were red with her human blood. “This is why the ferix came.”

He did not release his grip, instead pulling her forward with a yank. Ertale shifted his weight. He did not want to fight his brother, but he would if Sarsen hurt her.

“Do not be so careless. We will not always be able to rescue you.” He released her with a sound of disgust from the back of his throat.

Ertale might have to hurt his brother after all.

“I’m sorry,” she said, voice barely louder than a whisper. She pressed her face to Ertale’s shoulder. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” she repeated.

He stroked her hair with his clumsy hands, wishing for the words to soothe her.

He had a heart once. It was stolen and then returned by a stranger. Now their hearts beat together in unbroken time. They were one.

He was hers, completely. Nothing would ever change that.