Tim Akers - The Horns of Ruin

"No more than they'll worship Amon the Mad," Owen snapped.

"Some of us will," Cassandra said.

I nodded. "There will be split loyalties. And neither will let the other live, either way." I walked up to Malcolm. "What's that thing called? The damned holy battery?"

"The Ruin," he said. "They're both tapping it now. Even if it only held the power Alexander has gathered in the last two hundred years, this battle could last for weeks."

"But you said it goes back farther than that. Back to when the Titans fell."

"Aye. Don't worry. The energies will drive them mad long before then."

"Or they'll kill each other," I said.

The building shook, chunks of ceiling and tile clattering down into the chamber.

Malcolm nodded. "That does seem the more likely conclusion."

"What if we destroyed it?" I asked.

He turned to me, a quizzical look in his eyes. "Destroy it? What good would that do?"

"Drain them of their power. At least the stored stuff. I don't know, maybe it would weaken them enough to put them on their heels."

"Or it could destroy the city. It's a boiler, Eva. You don't just punch a hole in it."

"There are pressure valves, though. The impellors. That's what Amon was getting at, when he was working with the Feyr." I made a connection in my head. "It's what the Chanters were looking at, too. They were working with the Feyr, building something. They must have been figuring something out about the Ruin, and Alexander didn't like it."

"That's why he sent his little dead army, to crack them open?" Owen asked. "And we've been worshipping this guy?"

"There are valves. But emptying the Ruin through them…" Malcolm shook his head. "I don't know what would happen."

"Will it be something better than the city getting destroyed by those two bastards, throwing the entire Fraterdom into chaos?"

He bent his head to one side and thought, steepling his fingers against his lips.

"I can't guarantee that it will be."

"Close enough for me," I said. "Show us where these valves for the Ruin are."

"Hold," Cassandra said. She was standing between us and what remained of the door. "I cannot assist you in this. You act against Amon."

"But I act in his interest," I said, turning straight to her and clasping my hands across my sword. "If Alexander doesn't kill him in this fight, he'll be so badly wounded that he won't be able to hold on to the power of the Ruin anyway. Better to let it out now than have it tear free later."

She stared at me, hands clenched into a fist between her breasts, legs set to receive a charge. No other movement.

"We don't have time for this, girl." I walked up to her. "Are you going to stop me from doing this?"

Several breaths. She shook her head.

"Then move or follow. We're going."

And we went. When the room was empty she touched a finger to the bloody handprint on her breast, then smeared it against her forehead. But she followed us.

* * *

What the Feyr had told me of the Ruin was minimal. An ancient place. An atrocity lodged in the soul of their people, and then passed on to us. That it could be used to prevent the cycle of gods was a by-product, and one that the Feyr had never tapped. Leave it to man. Leave it to Alexander.

It did explain why we built our city on a lake, though. The Ruin itself did not float, nor did it sink. It simply was where it was, and the city was built up around it. The Elemental of the Feyr had described it like a sore, burned into reality. It looked like a rock, though.

Malcolm led us through the wreckage of the Spear and out. The sky resembled a white-water rapids now, conflicting currents rushing together and churning in near invisible turmoil. Whatever madness drifted down into the city was turning Ash into wreckage as well. Buildings burned, sirens called, but no one was answering them.

"I would take the 'train," Malcolm said, "but I'm pretty sure they're not running on schedule today."

"Smartass," I answered. Turned to Owen. "That wagon of yours available?"

He shook his head. "Do you honestly think the communications rig is going to work in this mess? And if it did, do you think anyone would answer?"

"Mm. Well. I guess we're walking."

Not a long walk, but a difficult one. Streets were flooded or had fallen through, replaced with sudden lakes and rivers that coursed through the infrastructure. Usually stable boulevards tilted, and buildings creaked dangerously. Lots of glass, lots of debris. Lots of bodies, and most of them dead at the hands of other citizens.

What had I done? What cost was I asking the rest of the city to pay?

"You've done nothing that should not have been done," Cassandra answered, though I'd kept my mouth shut. She looked at me with those blindfolded eyes. "These things have unfolded in a way that could not be expected."

"Are you going to be creepy like that forever now? Because if you are, I'm not sure we can still be friends."

"Maybe after the apocalypse I'll feel a little more chipper," she answered.

"Thank gods," I said.

What should have been five minutes by foot took us half an hour, and we were all on edge by the time we got where we were going. I'm not sure I could have found the place without Malcolm. As it was we kept getting lost, doubling back, finding new roads that hadn't been ruined.

The building itself was uninteresting. Long and flat-sided, cut out of granite, no windows. A sign on the front declared it to be part of the power grid.

"That supposed to be funny?" I asked.

"We don't get a lot of opportunity for levity in the Library Desolate," he answered. "Is it funny?"

I didn't answer. We went inside, with the help of Malcolm's passkey and a complete lack of guards.

"You'd think these guards would have stuck, at least," I said. "Alexander's true nature couldn't have been much of a surprise to them."

They had stuck, though, and died in their service. When we found them, they were stuffed into a closet. Dead, not hiding. Butchered. I immediately thought of the groups of coldmen Owen and I had found around the city. Similar slash wounds, similar savagery. We exchanged a look.

The foyer of the building led to a freight elevator. No stairs. We all got in, locked up, and began the descent. Quiet ride down, but when the doors opened we were all a little open-jawed.

The Ruin of Ash was a wide, flat stone, big as a hockey field, glossy black and pitted. It looked a lot like the Feyr artifacts we had seen, only huge. It radiated energy, like a hot furnace about to blow. It was nestled into a bowl-shaped room. The room was lined with drumlike receivers, gathering and emitting some invisible force. Just standing in the doorway was like being deaf in the loudest room you've ever heard.

"This is it," I gasped. Malcolm nodded, but kept his head down. "What do we do?"

"Nothing," said a voice from the corner. The two men, their tattooed eyes, their bulky robes. They walked toward us like monks, hands clasped at their waists, sleeves hiding their fists.

"Who are you people?" I said as I led my little contingent out of the elevator. "I mean, I've appreciated your help, but what's your part in all this?"

"This is our point," he said, nodding to the Ruin behind him. "And we have appreciated your help as well, Eva Forge."

"What the hell is that supposed to mean?"

The nearer one shrugged and tore out of his robe. Not a man at all, and not wearing armor. He was armor. Bulky chest and backwardbending knees, arms like a giant's. And the tattoos around his eyes? Scales, just like the rest of him. His mouth yawned with teeth, and was as wide as both my hands together. He wore shielded gauntlets, bound to sharp punch daggers. He smiled at me with gods so many teeth.

Rethari.

"Dramatic, my brother," the other one said, calmly drawing back his robe and then rolling up his sleeves to reveal similar weapons. "Can't we keep our dignity?"