It didn’t stop. It kept mutating, growing, looming, excavating itself, moist and bleeding, and a high-pitched screeching filled the air, almost beyond the range of hearing, like a thousand nails scratching down a slate wall, nails splintering and fracturing to the quick, leaving red trails behind—
And then it was over and Jova stood there frowning at him, tiny in comparison to the monstrosity she’d erupted into, her form strangely compact, her clothing untorn.
Scorio realized he’d reeled back and raised a hand before his face, his gorge rising and swamping his mouth with the taste of bile.
Everybody was staring at him in shock.
“That…” He lowered his arm and caught his breath. “That was unexpected.”
“By the ten hells,” said Leonis. “That bad? I was going to ask to go next, but maybe not.”
He could still see it. Her flesh billowing forth, clusters of small fingers pressed out through her skin like budding flowers, lips parting—
Scorio shuddered and pinched the bridge of his nose.
“See how it’s the opposite of a controlling power?” Jova’s voice was chill, clinical. “I don’t compel you. I don’t push you away. You do that yourself. My power hides me, makes it hard to look at me, to fight me.”
“No kidding. Have you seen it? What you become?”
“No.” Her tone was firm, forbidding. “And I’ve asked my friends to not describe it. I’d rather not know.”
“Fair enough.” Scorio took a deep breath and tugged on his clothing. “Wow.”
They stood in an awkward silence that Scorio felt partially responsible for. Jova’s expression could have been carved from stone. It had hurt her to show him, he realized, even though she’d pushed him to see.
A knot he’d try to untangle later.
“Well, there’s a definite silver lining.” He forced a lopsided grin. “Jova can finally fend off all the lovesick suitors who won’t take no for an answer.”
There were snorts and chuckles of disbelief, and though Jova didn’t smile, Scorio could tell it was because she was actively restraining herself from doing so.
“Because I have so many lovesick suitors,” she said, striding past him toward the camp.
“And as if she’d need that power in the first place,” said Zala, and then fell in with her friend.
Scorio’s heart was still pounding. Each time he blinked he saw that monstrous form projected against the insides of his eyelids. He frowned, blinked, blinked again, and realized that it kept happening. A persistent effect.
Juniper smiled apologetically. “I tried to warn you. The vision fades after a few hours.”
“You’re serious?” He closed his eyes and rapidly felt himself become nauseous. “Guess I’m taking first watch.”
Juniper turned to leave. “And second, most like.”
“You all right, Scorio?” asked Leonis quietly.
“Yeah, fine. Just… not going to eat anything for a while.”
“You’re not missing much. I’ve grave news. Apparently, there’s no buffet awaiting us.”
They returned to camp. The twilight gloom was deepening rapidly. Midnight was only a quarter cycle away, as Bastion reckoned time.
“Want company on first watch?” asked Lianshi.
“Sure. And twigs with which to keep my eyelids open.”
“That bad?”
“Worse.” He shuddered. What did that power mean? Did it reveal some truth about Jova? Some hidden facet to her past or personality?
The others lay down, and for a while he and Lianshi just did slow circuits of the camp, talking softly about everything that had happened, sharing impressions, hopes.
Finally, they sat high atop the winding crest of the closest dune as midnight descended upon them. For a short span, everything was pitch dark, and both he and Lianshi listened intently, casting about with their dark vision, scouring the landscape for threats. But all too soon the darkness began to abate.
Lianshi leaned her shoulder against his, and together they watched the western horizon begin to lighten.
And all the while, Scorio did his damned best to not think about Jova and the horror she carried deep within her.
Chapter 12
They saw the Rain Wall early the next day.
At first, it only appeared when they crested the largest dunes, a dark line in the distance, but gradually, inexorably, it grew larger, rising into the sky, a charcoal smudge that wrapped across the southern horizon. The winds began to change, gusting with mineral dampness every which way, and soon the dunes themselves began to break up, no longer forming endless waves but now star dunes around which they wended their way.
“Finally!” Evelyn grinned back at them. As always she took the lead, pulling them on, never slowing. “I feel myself coming back to life. If the world must be gray, at least give it some violence, some energy, you know?”
Nobody spoke much. Instead, they walked with their gazes fixed on the storm. Occasionally wagon trains passed them by, beds heaped with produce or treasures from deeper in Hell, the oilcloths that covered the goods still beaded with rain, the drivers and guards nodding politely as they rumbled by.
And always the Rain Wall rose higher.
Though they saw it in the early morning, it took a surprisingly long time to reach; it rose higher and higher with each passing cycle until their small party was faced with a roiling wall of fury that challenged the very heavens, many times the height of the battlements that surrounded Bastion, an endless storm that remained fixed in place, great clouds billowing and rising up to be consumed and sucked back into the dark mass.
Its sheer size beggared belief. The complexity of the clouds, the air growing ever cooler, and soon Scorio noticed that the dark ash underfoot was growing compact and hard as stone.
“Moisture,” said Lianshi, catching him dig his toe into the ground. “The ash is so fine that it sucks the water for miles, growing compact.”
She wasn’t kidding. Even the rippling ridges were as hard as rock. The star dunes began to collapse under the ever-stronger winds, until they were little more than mounds of wet sand, swells that subsided the closer they got.
When they stopped for lunch the wall of storm rose as high as mountains, sheer cliffs of raging gray and black that stretched as far as the eye could see. A raging moan filled the air as if the storm were tormenting the skies, and the wind that tore at their clothing smelled of heated metal.
“Listen up, children.” Evelyn sounded elated. “This is your first time passing through the Rain Wall, and I don’t care what they told you back in the warm classrooms of the Academy. You’ve no idea what you’re in for.”
Scorio saw Lianshi purse her lips.
Evelyn beamed. “We’re not going to walk through. We’re going to run, though of course we’ll be limited by whoever goes slowest. We’re going to go in pairs, arms linked, and I’ll use my hair to ensure nobody gets blown off their feet. Whenever you feel the wind pick up, Ignite your Heart and lean into it, all right? But don’t keep your Heart lit. There’s more Coal and Copper mana in there than you could burn in a lifetime, but your stamina will run out and then you’ll be left helpless. So saturate as best you can, run, and if you feel yourself losing control, Ignite. Worst case scenario? The wind will try to lift you off your feet and hurl you into oblivion.”
Evelyn’s grin widened. “But don’t worry! I’ll keep you safe. Unless you all get picked up, in which case we’ll just have to see how far we’re thrown.”
Scorio blanched.
“How do the carts get through?” asked Juniper. “Why isn’t their cargo torn away?”
Evelyn shrugged. “There are transport weights on either side of the wall. Merchants load them onto their wagons going in, ditch the weights coming out. We’re going to run, and if we’re lucky, we’ll be out the other side quickly. It’s usually only a mile deep, but sometimes it can fluctuate to twice that. Which is extra bad, because that also means the winds will have doubled in strength.”