Page 84 of Still the Sun

We’ve nearly finished the tower; its walls and floors align snug and tight. Hagthor and Amlynn are fantastic architects; no one will be able to get through the fortress by the time she’s done with it, though I worry that the speed at which we erected it will create problems, so I put in extra fail-safes. Arthen thinks they’re a waste of time, but Cas’raneah’s fear pushes me to be thorough. Hide the amaranthine crystal behind a door and entrust its only key to our most discreet citizen. Block off the top three sections of the machine, with a hidden lift for maintenance, and a trapdoor in the shaft for floor three. I make it so all five parts of the machine can disconnect, and we have enough acetic silver to coat the topmost piece.

Now I have plans on a giant piece of parchment stretched out between our group. Again Cas’raneah hovers to see over ourshoulders; for whatever reason, our gods made us taller than themselves. At least, taller than the ones I’ve met. “We’ll snatch the Serpent at the last possible moment.” I point to the outline of the machine and the great folded claw attached to the drill. “We can’t tip off Ruin or any of its spies.”

“How will you know where it is?” Cas’raneah chimes in. “When to do it?”

“The emilies.” I lift my head to point them out, but none are growing here. “That’s how the Serpent feeds.” The powerful buds suck sunlight down through their deep roots and into the Serpent itself, which feeds almost like a plant would. “There’s a pattern; the Serpent makes a complete rotation every twenty-six hours. The flowers follow its path. When the flowers return here”—I point toward the tower—“we act.”

The heavens thunder, the ground groans, the stars fall. The gods have brought their war to Tampere.

I know when Ruin arrives. Unholy darkness swallows the night of his coming. Our lanterns and motor-powered lights barely pierce it. The darkness is a physical thing, like dust or breath.

Maglon turns on the fog emitters early, thinking they’ll mask our work. They don’t quite align with the movements of the sun, but if this works, that won’t matter.

When the sun dawns, I ready myself at the tower. We complete the machine. It’s massive and functional and the most beautiful thing I’ve ever constructed. Would be even more so, if we’d had the time. I wait, poised at the top of the tower, but the signal doesn’t come. Ruin is too powerful.

It devours. A scout reports an enormous crater, kilometers from Emgarden, but whether the earth was eaten or merely crushed by the power of gods, we can’t be sure. The forests begin to decay. Animalssense the wrongness of the void god’s presence and flee as the vegetation curls and withers. We stay, waiting, ready.

The wait hurts. I can’t sleep. My muscles are in a constant state of winding, ready to spring at a moment’s notice. Fear sours my belly. What if it doesn’t work? What if Ruin catches on and flees? What if the gods can’t pin it down? What if itwins?

“Then we’ll all be dead, and it won’t matter,” I tell Salki callously over thin soup. I’m terrible at comforting, and she knows it. She shouldn’t have asked. It’s an unfair thought, but I have to be unfair. If I dwell on our demise when our people have only just begun, I will unravel. I need to keep myself together. I need this machine to work.

The planet rocks the day they seize the Devourer.

Our small shelters collapse. Dying trees topple, canyons open, mountains jut, and a shrill whistle sings out across a pale sky—the gods’ call.

They have it, and the emilies thrust up through the soil, drinking in sunlight, marking the path of the Serpent.

Almost as soon as the signal sounds, the darkness spreads. It rushes from the land far to the west, spreading out in patterns like broken glass, black and sinking and sucking. Entire rock formations crumble atop it as it passes. Brush turns brittle and collapses beneath its own weight, and the darkness pours into Emgarden.

My people panic and run, some not quickly enough. I watch Hagthor fall to it. Watch his body gray in an instant, his eyes dissolve in their sockets, his hair fall from his head. He never screams, only shrivels and wanes until there’s nothing left of him.

We are not gods. We retreat.

I desperately seek out Salki, Arthen, but there’s no time to search, only to sprint for our lives. I don’t know how long it will take for the gods to strip Ruin enough to imprison it; I only know that it will consume everything within its reach while they try. Maybe even the Serpent itself.

The tower.

My lungs burn. The garage has fallen; there’s no time to free the off-world transports. I have only the legs the gods gave me, and if they’re not enough, then we all fail.

I bolt for the tower, sprinting on my toes, pumping my arms with the silent plea to move faster, faster,faster. The heavens thunder and darken as I reach the heavy doors and haul them open, slipping into the darkness of the tower.

My long legs take the stairs three at a time. To the open door of the power source. I trace the hidden runes at its base, and the rose-colored crystal burns to life. Backtracking, I push the door seamlessly flush with the wall, then cover it with the second part of the machine. Only Entisa will be able to open it now, if the universe wills that she survives.

Up, up, up to the top of the tower, to the master engine I created with my own hands. Through the acetic silver that harmlessly cascades over me. I drop the turbine into position and throw my weight into the lever. The tower rumbles and spits, venting hissing steam through its windows. My body vibrates as the drill surges through the crust, and I grip the machine with golden knuckles blanched white to keep my balance. When the claw hits, the machine bucks me off, throwing me back through the acetic silver and into the wall. My vision blackens for a moment, but my mind stays alert, and I push onto my feet as the tower jerks north, then east, as the Serpent tries to free itself.

We did it.The movements still. The claw struck true.

The machine settles, steam dissipating. With the clamp released, the Serpent within the planet will be unable to turn. We’ve locked Ruin’s prison in perpetual day.

But I have to guarantee it.

Pinching my lips together, for it pains me to destroy what I’ve created, I drop to the fourth floor and start pulling parts free, dislodging gears, cutting wires. Down through the tower, I destroy the mechanisms that brought us hope, each a little more than thelast. I crush, dislodge, tear, scatter. Cut and tear out the cording that links its parts. The machine will hold, but it will never againrelease.

I stumble out of the tower, the sun frozen two hours from its zenith, but a brighter light bursts beneath it, a star exploding outward with the power only a goddess can possess, and I know instantly that it’s Cas’raneah, come to initiate the machine herself if she has to. But I’m still here. We’re still here.

Should it escape by some chance, it would need only reach the dark side to regain its strength.

Realizing what she’s doing, I stumble at the blaze of light, my strength gone. “Oh, Cas.” Not this. Not you, too.

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