“Oh.” Scorio’s thoughts whirled once more, and he envisioned the Gauntlet, that vast, amber beam, the chambers beyond. The spiteful little monsters, the chamber of blades, the tilting hallway. Would he do better now if he could undertake it again?
He curled his free hand into a fist.
Undoubtedly.
“How far did you get?” he asked, moving to catch up. “The first time you ran the Gauntlet?”
“I never did,” she said quietly, turning to walk alongside him. “As an interloper, I was promised the chance, but they kept finding reasons to deny me.”
“They what?” Scorio looked at her in shock. “Why? I mean, I understand why, but that’s…”
“One of the many reasons that led me to quit the Academy?” She gave him her signature bitter smile. “Precisely.”
“Bastards.”
They walked along in companionable silence for a spell, navigating the ruins, avoiding areas of dense Coal mana that could lead them into trouble.
When his ruined building moved into view, he looked sidelong at her. “So.”
“Hmm?”
“This means you’re not averse to more training? Now that I’ve made Cinder?”
She pursed her lips, walked in silence till the end of the block, then stopped. “We’ll see how this goes. Can’t say I was going anywhere fast before you showed up.”
“What exactly were you doing, back then? Other than cultivating a reputation as the Nightmare Lady?”
“Mostly just cultivating a reputation as the Nightmare Lady.” Her smile was sad. “That and reading, some alchemy. Trying to cultivate a few rare plants. Going into town a lot, just walking the streets. Trying to figure out what I was going to do next, and getting nowhere fast.”
“So it’s a good thing I showed up?”
“That remains to be seen.” Her smile was guarded, but there. “Let’s see if you’re able to survive the next month without purposefully poisoning yourself to death or throwing yourself down a fire chasm while trying to escape a fiend.”
“Deal.”
“Take the day off, by the way. Rest, eat as much as you can.”
“Sure. Rest and food. Got it.”
She narrowed her eyes. “That’s important, Scorio. You keep pushing yourself like this and you’ll flame out. Literally.”
“I got it.” He spread his hands out in an innocent gesture. “I’m ready to sleep the day away. Think I’ve earned it.”
“Uh-huh.” She didn’t sound convinced. “I’ll see you tomorrow, the First Rust.”
“First Rust. And—thank you.”
She’d already begun to walk away, stopped, surprised. “For what?”
“For everything. Your time. Your advice. Your training.”
Naomi’s expression was inscrutable. “Oh, you’ve nothing to thank me for. You’ve paid for all this with quality sapphire mana. If anything, I’m still in your debt.”
“You could repay that easily by giving me some,” he suggested innocently.
To which she gave a short bark of laughter. “Right. See you tomorrow, Scorio.”
“See you.”
He watched her go, and then took a deep breath. As much as he yearned to lie down and sleep away the next day cycle, he didn’t have time.
Instead, he brushed the worst of the dust away from his robes, tightened his belt, and set off toward his room to grab a quick meal before heading for the civilized border of Bastion.
It was time to ask Feiyan and Helena for a favor.
Chapter 22
Groggy, Scorio lifted his head from his arm and blinked around his room. The window was dark, with the soft hiss of the dusk rain falling outside.
He sat up, stared at nothing for a bit, then crawled over to his water pail, dipping his hands into the dregs at the bottom and washing his face.
Despite his best intentions, he’d slept in. He recalled reaching his chamber, sitting down for a moment’s rest, and then—nothing.
Perhaps Naomi had been right. Even having slept the day away, he felt exhausted, his mouth gummy, his skin tight.
Rising to his feet, he moved to the window, climbed outside, and then scaled the wall to his rooftop. Clambered up and sat on a hunk of retaining wall, lifting his face to the night sky, the dried-blood sun-wire, and the sweet rain that fell upon all of Bastion.
After a moment he shrugged his way out of his robes and sat naked beneath the cool rain, allowing it to wash away days’ worth of dust, grime, and sweat. Simply sat there, enjoying the sensation, occasionally blinking the water away to gaze up at the far side of the city above him. At the distant fiery chasms whose light was momentarily muted by the falling rain, the plumes of steam rising from them and turning their depths from a smoldering crimson to near black.
The rain didn’t last long. Scorio rose to his feet, raked his fingers through his wet hair, pulled on his damp robes, cinched the belt tight, then gazed down at the street some four stories below.
For a moment he was tempted to ignite his Heart and attempt leaping down.
But then he remembered Naomi’s warning and simply climbed down the ruined wall till he was able to leap the remaining six yards safely to the rubble below. That accomplished, he set off toward Bastion’s living wards.
He’d never visited the city at night, but Naomi’s warning made the adventure even more exciting; now that he was an almighty Cinder, he was eager to prowl the narrow streets and see how exactly the city changed in the dark.
Scorio moved quickly through the ruins, passing softly glowing mana traps, seeing the occasional flicker of well-hidden campfires amongst the guttered buildings. He avoided all signs of life, and after some eight blocks, he slipped into the city proper, leaving the cracked stone and detritus for the alleyways and winding streets of the city.
It was like entering a different realm. Under the indiscriminate light of the sun-wire, Bastion was a massive, ponderous collection of dull buildings, the pervasive light rendering everything flat and dusty, banishing the shadows and painting everything the same golden hues.
But now it felt a city of mystery, darkness everywhere, as most of the narrow streets weren’t illuminated and most of the windows shuttered.
The main avenue, however, was a surreal ribbon of black light shot through with purple gleams, this illumination emitted by black spheres suspended haphazardly from poles, building corners, the underside of awnings, or within shop display windows that were still courting business.
The darkness, in contrast, took a dark, slate-blue hue, so that he felt as if he walked through a submarine world, strangers hurrying by on their nocturnal errands, some carrying closed parasols, others damp from the rain, most dry and clearly having just emerged from their homes or places of business.
It was easy to stick to the illuminated areas, instinctive, even; signs glowed overhead, curling glass tubes filled with radiant purple-black Coal light offering services of every kind, though Scorio had trouble deciphering the lettering.
And overhead, the barely glowing sun-wire, and beyond that, a city curved above, its avenues picked out in black light and pale, radiant copper, with serene pools of light, Iron-gray betraying the homes and streets of the wealthier wards closer to the Gate to Hell.
A rarefied world, everything gleaming and wet from the rain, the startling blacklight reflecting off the road in eddies and smears.
Bemused, Scorio allowed the sparse foot traffic to guide him, content to simply take in Bastion at night, so different from the day cycle city that he could have been transported to another world entirely.
Here were gathered stalls that vented steam from the back, hectic cooks under their damp awnings serving bowls of hot food to impatient customers; there, music skirled out of tall windows, a glowing sign above the bar’s doorway depicting a purple squid with wondrously complex tentacles; down a narrow street Scorio saw a raised stage on which a half-dozen women in elaborate costumes danced before a crowd six deep; there a building was stunningly decorated with gaudy, shining stripes of refulgent copper that contoured and embellished its architectural excesses.