The cold hadn’t deterred anyone that I could see. The opposite, in fact. What had started as a few hardy souls doing what pathetic little they could had turned into a fairly organised mob. No torches and pitchforks though: this was a different kind of crowd, brandishing appropriated guns, stolen flamers, kitchen knives, planks of two-by-four, knuckledusters, flick-knives and pretty much any makeshift weapon that a city like this could harbour. Halina was there with her Stencher mates, a wicked grin plastered on her face and not caring who saw that she wasn’t so much walking as floating over the ice-stricken way. Lise refused to stay behind and I had no heart to insist – she’d lost as much as anyone, had as much right as I did to be there. With one of Dwarf’s weapons in her hand, no one wanted to get too close in any case, although Yagin was making a valiant effort at appearing nonchalant.
The magelets came too, all of them. I couldn’t stop them, and I didn’t think I wanted to. Cabe was under the protective arm of his father, Quillan. Another boy was bouncing fire on his palm, quenching it, relighting it as sweat popped up on his brow – I could see him becoming very useful, if he managed to stop accidentally lighting his hair. Halina looked exhausted, and her arm was a mass of bruising, but she floated along with one of the others behind her, though every few paces he dropped down to the walkway and had to launch himself again. Halina urged him on with a grim smile. All the rest – they all came, each willing to do their best, whatever that best was. I could only hope they survived the experience. That we all did, but them the most.
The smallest, little Casuco, smiled shyly at me and, with a crack and a hiss, opened his palm to proffer me a sweet conjured out of nothing but his pain. I took it – it tasted even better than it looked – and then Casuco slid his hand into mine. It struck me with a finality that almost robbed me of breath that I was going to have to do something, anything, and when I did it, it was going to be for these little magelets, who were showing more gumption than I’d managed in a couple of decades. They’re your way back in, Pasha’s remembered voice said in my head. I shook it away, because I couldn’t bear that it was only a memory.
Along with the diversity in weapons, refugees from the ’Pit mixed with men who’d lived in Under all their lives, gang members walked with priests and housewives, bouncers and businesswomen. Everything else was forgotten in the face of Outsiders, because this was their patch now, their city, and they were scared and pissed off. No one cared which way the other praised the Goddess, or how pale their skin was, what their accent was, because we were all the same.
Erlat came too, along with some of her friends and co-workers. I thought about protesting, but recalled the last time I’d tried, and kept my mouth firmly shut. Instead, I’d asked Erlat if she was any good with that gun. She’d answered by planting a bullet in the wall’s plaster about an inch from my face, so I’d taken that as a yes and said no more about it. “Never argue with a woman with a loaded gun” is a nice maxim to live by, if you like to live.
Allit kept up a muted commentary about what was possibly ahead as he walked next to me – we tried to hide what he was doing, but after a few sideways glances no one took any notice. It was a liberating feeling, people not side-eyeing us because we were mages, and one I could only hope lasted after this. If we lasted after this.
Heights passed by in a haze of snow and slush and empty houses, discarded shops. They’d had money here, were probably even now trying to buy a way through the Mishan gate. Some of the Glow globes that lit the way were beginning to fade – since I’d screwed myself over, only Pasha had enough juice to fire up the pain room and power the Glow. One mage hadn’t been nearly enough, and most of what he’d put out had gone to the factories that lay silent under us now. We had some Glow, but no more was being made. We had no raw materials left either, which, for a city that relied on trade, was almost as bad as the lack of food.
Without anyone saying anything, we slowed as we left Heights. The vast mushroom-shaped estates of Clouds seemed to press down on us, or maybe that was just me. We met with a few straggling Storad, looting and looking for anyone left. They didn’t last long.
When the first sounds of fighting echoed down from above, a signal from Quillan stopped us all.
“You’re sure about this?” he said to me.
“No, but do we have a choice?”
“There’s always a choice.”
“Fine, so we all run away and die of starvation. Or wait to get chopped to bits.”