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Kyle beckons us to a few free seats left at the long table where he sits with his free arm swung over Damen’s chair. Numair appears as Lara settles down next to Inara, putting a soft kiss on her cheek and a large bowl of porridge under her crinkled nose.
My eyes drift to the swinging doors, just as Valdus comes in wearing the same deep black shirt we all seem to wear. He’s rolling up the sleeves, revealing his metal arms as he walks toward Izod and Mylena, distributing unmatched cups of enameled metal. He picks up two and makes his way to our table before sliding into the seat next to me. His fingers brush mine, if only for a second, but it’s enough for me to forget my headache.
We eat our breakfast listening to stories of old. Damen wouldn’t be a priest if the gods weren’t present. Evanae and Livith, in all their fearsome beauty, are the main characters today.
Damen tells us about a tribe living in a forest confined only by shores of an ocean and snow-capped mountains. On the day the moon hid the sun from view, the wife of the chief gave birth to twins. A boy of unnatural beauty and a girl of quiet nature. One opposite of the other in every way but one. Their unmatched rivalry, surpassing ordinary fights between siblings. As they grew older, power surged in their blood. Old and untamed. The pulse of life energy in their veins echoed throughout the world. Mountains crumbled, oceans raged, civilizations bloomed and perished. Their tribe knew that one twin had to win the battle of strength if the world was to survive.
When the moon cloaked the sun yet another time, the tribe gathered in the temple they built to the Maker. A pyramid towering over the forest with silver veins running deep through the stone. That night, the temple vibrated with energy and, as the twins faced each other, the silver lit up with light. The Maker would watch the fight and grace the victor of this battle of will and wit.
The beat of drums thrummed through the temple. Each pulse echoed every clash of the twins’ weapons. And each clang sent a tremble through the land.
Evanae’s and Livith’s strength and skill matched perfectly, but even the most powerful grow tired. Their defenses dropped for a single moment. It was enough. As a mirror image of each other, they lunged. The blades of their spears pierced their hearts. They fell to their knees, holding each other as blood pooled at their feet. For the first time, they saw each other as a part of a whole rather than rivals of old spites.
The silence that followed stretched endlessly. Even the light in the silver veins dimmed to a soft glow, and from the shadows of the temple, the Maker walked to meet the champions that had fought for his grace.
The Maker knelt next to the twins when only a sparkle of life flickered in their eyes. He had watched them grow. He had seen their kindness and their wrath. He had tested their resolve. Death by each other’s hand was not the end they deserved.
The Maker waved his hand, and the spears clattered to the floor. Blood ran freely, but the twins clung to each other as the energy seeped away from their veins. Once they took their last breaths, their bodies vanished, and the Maker with them. Twins that only in death had known peace, and from that day forward guided our lives. Evanae became the Maker’s bride and brought spirits of elements into the world. Livith wasted away the world with each passing moment, until darkness blanketed the world. But they were still two halves of the same whole, and each time Livith would grow too strong, Evanae would shatter his darkness. And each Shattered Night marked another year in the endless cycle.
We pray for Evanae’s will to help us through the tough times. We pray for the oblivion to stay at bay, but Livith is a master of his own, and he’ll come for us all in the end.
“You had to tell the sad one,” Kyle says, running his fingers through his beard.
The table erupts in laughter, and Damen only rolls his eyes.
Discussions break out at the table, and Valdus’s rasping voice in my ear is enough to pull my stomach into knots. “I have something planned for us today.”
I follow him out of the research laboratory and toward a caravan half-buried by sand. We talk about everything and anything until the factory overtakes the sky, and the smog from its chimneys clogs my throat. I struggle to take a single deep breath, and Valdus’s hand holding mine is the only thing guiding me through the throng of men towards the entrance.
The guard’s eyes stay closed as we walk by his side. He sways before startling awake, but we’ve already slipped through the gates of chipped paint. A few more steps, and a wave of heat almost knocks me off my feet. The thump of machinery is so loud, I can’t even hear my thoughts, much less Valdus as he leans to say something into my ear. The way his fingers press mine, I imagine he’s telling me to stay close. He shouldn’t worry, for I cling to him when automated giants of metal and gears roll on clicking crawler belts, carrying piles of metal scraps, heavy tools, and canisters with oil. Men and women in clothes stained with grease and perspiration push carts, work around machinery, and load complex mechanisms into wagons lining up against the brick walls. For every five men, a guard ambles through the factory, surveying every step of the production. And where the conveyor belt drops gears onto an ever-growing pile, automatons of spinning gears pack them into crates and roll them away to a rapidly filling wagon.
A drop of dark liquid falls on my shoulder from one of the countless pipes running along the walls, feeding a furnace and spewing smoke into the sky and heat into the factory. With a cry of warning, a man with scars from countless burns pops open a latch and molten metal pours in a rivulet down a curved ledge and into dozens of molds of different sizes and shapes.
My shirt sticks to my sweat-covered skin as we push by the furnace. The ground shakes under my feet, and I look up at Valdus, but his eyes are on an old man pushing an empty cart. He stops on our path and brings three fingers to his heart. Others mirror his greeting, but none mouths a question they all must have about a girl with eyes of sparkling green trailing behind the King of Rebels.
The trembling grows stronger and echoes in my heart with each loud bang, yet we push even deeper into the factory until I see a giant press fall down on a conveyor belt before it rises high up again. A young man with a long mustache and a woman with sinewy hands slide a new sheet of metal on the belt. They barely have enough time to move away when the press falls down with a loud bang that makes my whole body shrink. The workers are already removing the piece when the press climbs up again. I don’t see what comes out of it as Valdus pushes a few bricks deeper into the wall, and a part of it swings open, revealing a spacious cavern inside.
I have to duck to slip through the low frame of the door. “You seem to like hidden rooms and veiled venues.”
“Who doesn’t?” Valdus asks.
The door slides shut behind him and muffles the raucous machinery with it.
On the other end of the room, a set of rusted metal cans and tinted glass bottles are arranged on a bench. A line of sprayed white paint runs across the sand below my feet and to a table where a box sits overflowing with bullets.
As cans form a pyramid and a new set of bottles are lined up on the high bench, Valdus pulls up a gun from under the table.
“You’ve brought me to a shooting range.”
“You’re a rebel now.” Valdus rolls the weapon around his finger, offering me the grip. “You should learn how to handle one of these.”
The gun is a simple revolver with a polished metal grip and an oiled drum. As I pick it up from his fingers, it weighs my hand down much more than I thought it would.
Valdus puts my thumb over the trigger. “Pull this down when you’re ready to shoot. Be careful, it’s loaded.”
“We wouldn’t want to be healing you all over again, would we?”
Valdus puts his hand under my chin and lifts my face, putting a soft kiss on my lips. “Depends on the outcome.”
