Amanda Downum - The Drowning City

“We can’t go much farther in this-”

He broke off, eyes widening, and Isyllt turned to look below them. She drew in a wondering breath and quickly regretted it as she began to cough.

They had reached the city. But where she expected to find another smoldering ruin, instead a shimmering dome of water rose.

Asheris sank slowly, landing on a spur of stone outside the wall. “She woke the river,” he whispered.

“She bought a miracle.”

The dome flowed in an unceasing cascade. It washed over their boots, soaked their trousers. Ash slid away in silver streams as soon as it touched the water. Asheris pressed a cautious hand into the wall, drew it back wet to the elbow and somewhat cleaner.

“I think we can go in.”

The pressure was enough to sting as she stepped through, but not much worse than a strong shower. They emerged drenched and gasping. Isyllt tugged her sodden veil aside and scrubbed her face with it, wrinkling her nose at the stains. She coughed and spat gray phlegm. Her throat ached, lips parched and tongue thick, but she didn’t want to risk the water, however miraculous. At least the air within was cleaner, thank the saints.

Thank Zhirin.

Symir hadn’t escaped entirely. The streets were strewn with rubble and stones-from both collapsing buildings and great porous black boulders that must have come from the volcano. The ground was slick with black mud, and bodies lay broken amid the debris. But the death-chill eased; there were survivors here too.

The streetlamps were out, but the gloom brightened. The water itself glowed, she realized, a subtle witchlit iridescence. Silver-green light and ash-shadows rippled over the ground and broken walls, washed everything unreal, dreamlike.

“Where should we go?” She wasn’t sure why she whispered, except that the shining vault of water reminded her of a cathedral.

“To the Khas, I suppose.”

“Did Faraj know, about you?” Their boots squelched as they walked, cloth slapping against flesh.

“I don’t think so,” he said after a moment. “He knew something, knew that my service was not entirely willing, but I doubt Imran or Rahal would have entrusted him with the truth.”

They passed a few survivors. A woman crouched in the rubble of a house, keening softly. A man kneeling beside an overflowing canal, a child’s body limp in his arms. They didn’t stop; there was nothing either of them could do.

As they neared Jadewater, voices rose over the constant rush of water. Glancing at each other, they turned toward it. The bridge was still intact, though cracked in places. The temple district had flooded knee-deep, nearly swallowed by the black pool that had been the Floating Garden. At the steps of the River Mother’s temple, a crowd gathered, voices raised in grief and wonder. One of the ivy-crowned domes had fallen, but the building was otherwise sound.

The Khas hadn’t fared so well. Its walls stood, gates open, but the Pomegranate Court was a ruin of fallen trees and muddy ash, and the dome on the great hall had caved in. The council dais was buried, and several councillors with it; guards tried to dig the bodies out but seemed too stunned to be effective. A few of them looked at Asheris with eyes wide and hopeful as hungry dogs, but he only shook his head sadly and turned away.

They found Faraj amid the rubble of the west wing, Shamina huddled lifelessly over Murai a few yards away. Isyllt swallowed the taste of char and started to turn, then paused. The chill wasn’t deep enough.

“Help me,” she said, crouching awkwardly beside the Vicereine. The woman’s skin was as cool as the air, her muscles locked in place. The jade-gray light painted everything cold and deathly, but Murai’s flesh was still warm.

Asheris knelt beside her and helped pull the corpse aside. Beneath her mother, Murai lay bruised and unmoving, but her breath rasped faintly and her eyelids twitched as Asheris checked her for broken bones. She didn’t wake as he lifted her.

“There’s nothing left here for any of us,” he said softly.

As they passed the gates, something moved in the flooded water plaza, a long shape twisting into the shallows where the steps had been. Isyllt tensed as a nakh raised its pale upper body, tail lashing. She groped for a knife she didn’t have, but the creature lifted one webbed hand to stay her.

“Your companions are at the docks,” it hissed, needle teeth glinting in the dull light.

“Thank you,” Isyllt said after a moment of surprise. “But why are you telling me?” A fading bruise mottled the creature’s face; she wondered if this was the one she’d met in the canal.

Black eyes flashed pearlescent as the nakh glanced toward the ceiling of water. “The river-daughter asked me to. She’s been waiting for you.”

The river-daughter. “Zhirin.”

The nakh shrugged, a disturbingly liquid ripple of bone and flesh. “She has no need for mortal names now.” It grinned a cold shark grin. “You have her protection here, witch. Come swim with me in the bay.”

Isyllt smiled back and nodded toward her bandaged arm. “Sorry. Not today.”

“I’ll be waiting.” Then the creature flung itself backward and vanished into the deep rushing water.

The destruction in Merrowgate was even worse. No building she saw had escaped damage, and some were in ruins. The Storm God’s Bride was rubble now, and Isyllt shook her head sadly at the sight. Survivors huddled in doorways, watching her and Asheris warily or staring blankly ahead. The docks were gone, nothing but shattered wood and debris. A ship’s mast canted out of the churning gray water, her shredded sails snagged on splintered spars. The rest of the craft was lost under the bay, and under the shining aqueous wall.

Some survivors moved about, searching the ruins for signs of life. She recognized Jabbor and the woman who’d spoken at the Tigers’ council; the weight in her chest eased a fraction.

Jabbor’s skin was dull and gray and he carried himself stiffly, but otherwise seemed unhurt. He blinked when he saw her and brushed a hand across one eye.

“What happened?” His voice was raw and stretched-thin and she knew he wasn’t asking about the mountain.

“She went into the river. To save the city. She chose it.”

He seemed to shrink for an instant, then straightened and raised his chin. “I heard her voice. We were going to die in the mudslides or the river, I was certain, and then I heard Zhir’s voice and the flood carried us here.”

He stared at her and Asheris, and the bitterness was clear in his eyes for a moment. She could hear the unspoken question-why them? Why them and not the woman he loved. He didn’t say it aloud, and she was glad; she had no answer.

“Excuse me,” he said, turning away. “I have to help. There are so many-”

They walked on, leaving the Tigers to their grief.

The nakh hadn’t lied-farther on in the gloom sat three familiar figures. Her stomach chilled with relief as Adam rose and turned toward her. He and Siddir and Vienh all seemed unhurt, if tired and ghastly wan in the watery light.

Adam grinned. “I told them you’d show up.” He raised an eyebrow at Asheris, and she nodded-safe.

Siddir was staring at Asheris as well, and Isyllt remembered the brittle tension between them at the ball, the glossed-over history. But before either man might speak, Vienh stepped between them to look at Murai.

“The Viceroy’s daughter?” She laid a careful hand on the child’s forehead; Murai still didn’t wake.

“Her parents are dead, and I don’t know of any other family. Perhaps in Ta’ashlan…”

Isyllt swallowed as she realized who wasn’t with them. “Your daughter?”

Vienh’s smile chased away the weariness on her face for an instant. “On the Dog , with my sister. I took them over as soon as I found them, but Adam insisted we wait for you.” She followed Isyllt’s glance toward the shrouded bay. “Izzy’s out there. The water’s too rough to come close. Nowhere to dock, anyway.”