35.
NIGHTRENDER
Nightrender gasped awake.
Slowly, the ringing in her ears faded. Shadow spots narrowed into pinpricks until at last she could see again. Her breath came in faint rattles, sharp with the taste of bile and blood, but the dark pressure of malice was gone. She’d done it. She’d cleansed the mine.
And then…And then she’d passed out from the pain.
With aching stiffness, she sat up and looked around. The bodies on the ramp and floor were unmoving. Dead. Truly dead.
The world had never forgotten to remind her how atrocious malice and the rancor were, but sometimes the obscenity of it all became so acute that even she could hardly stand to look. But she did look. She could not look away. The truth of the Dark Shard’s attacks on the laic plane were so wretched that someone needed to bear witness, and no one else alive was built to do it.
Only her. Always her.
She trudged back to the surface, pausing only to wipe away some of the tarry blood that stuck to her skin. There was nothing to do for the stuff that had soaked into her armor; the numinous fabric would expel it over time, as the cuts and tears mended themselves.
The walls of the tunnel had stopped moving. They weren’t quite wide enough for carts anymore, but there was plenty of space for her to walk without having to squeeze. When she came in sight of the exit, sunlight poured in. The opening was strange, still twisted like a screaming mouth, but the teeth were gone, at least.
Lieutenant Farr and the rest of his men waited outside, barrels and jugs of kindlewater sitting along the path, as well as carts of firewood—everything she’d requested.
“Nightrender.” Farr saluted, turning a faint shade of green as he noted the gore splattered across her entire body. “What—”
“You don’t want to know.” It was the sort of thing humans said when they secretly couldn’t wait to tell everyone, but she meant it. He didn’t want to know. He’d never again sleep peacefully if he did.
He clenched his jaw and glanced at his men, and then nodded. “All right. Were there any survivors?”
“No.” Not in any sense of the word. “I am sorry.”
Farr gazed at her a moment. “We all have family who worked down there.”
She thought of Michael, of Beth and Little Beth, and how they would never see him again. She imagined their faces when they heard the news, how their expressions would probably look like these men’s: crumpled, devastated, utterly lost. That humans could feel so fiercely for one another was comforting, but it made their willingness to kill all the more baffling.
“Set a guard by the entrance. Do not let anyone into the mine until I’ve finished.”
“Is it still ea—”
“No.” She hated interrupting, but she didn’t want him to say aloud that the mine had been eating people. “Just don’t go down there. I will take care of it.”
The lieutenant’s mask slipped, and it was clear he understood that something unspeakable awaited the curious. “Very well.”
Then, alone, she carried barrels of kindlewater and piles of firewood into the mine, staging everything so that it would burn hot and purifying. The soldiers kept offering to help, their training too strong to resist, but she refused; seeing what had happened to their countrymen would only enrage them further against Ivasland.
When all the wood was placed and the whole cavern was drenched in kindlewater, she set the fire and emerged from the mine just as smoke started to trickle from the mouth.
The soldiers were waiting for her. “We’ve quarantined all those who escaped, as well as everyone they’ve come into contact with, as you requested.”
“Then I will inspect them for traces of malice. To be certain.” Even with her memories vanishing, she knew the power of fear and suspicion. She needed to pronounce everyone clean to prevent the survivors from being shunned for the rest of their lives. “As for the device, a similar machine went off in Caberwill. It was accompanied by a score of soldiers.”
The men glanced at one another. “The only soldier here was the one who planted it,” said Farr. “We captured him during the evacuation.”
“Tell me where he is.”
“I’ll take you to him. The gallows is nearly set up.”
“Gallows.”
“Yes, we plan to execute him.”
Humans killing humans. What a shock.
She pushed the voice away. “He should be arrested and taken to Solcast for questioning and judgment.”
Farr shook his head. “Magistrate Stephens claims he has authority over this matter, and he’s calling for execution. So are the townspeople. You saw what happened in there. People want justice.”
Justice. Nothing here was justice.
Aren’t you tired of it?
Farr ordered his men to take up guard positions outside the mine, then motioned her along. “I’ll take you to the quarantine.”
She fell into step with Farr, wondering if she should take a moment to clean the worst of the carnage off herself. Most people didn’t respond well to anyone covered in the blood of friends and enemies alike. And considering the stories that had been told about Nightrender these last four hundred years…
“Thank you for coming to our aid,” said Farr. “I don’t know what would have happened if you hadn’t arrived when you did.”
“The entire town of Silver Sun would have been swallowed whole, trapped inside the depths of the mine, without sunlight, without breathable air, and without hope of escape. There would have been no survivors.” She looked at him askance. “The town of Small Mountain in Caberwill is gone because of an identical device. I could not reach it in time.”
He paled and didn’t say anything the rest of the walk into town.
People crowded the square, everyone yelling and pushing around the gallows where the Ivaslander stood, a noose already around his neck. The black-masked executioner stood at the lever.
As Nightrender approached the platform, quiet rippled outward and people retreated, making a path for her and the lieutenant. Well, for her. The lieutenant followed in her wake.
“I can take you to the quarantine—”
“I want to see this.” She walked to the front of the crowd, pretending like she didn’t notice the space people made around her, as though they were terrified to get too close. Or perhaps it was just the smell.
An official climbed the stairs to the platform, keeping the executioner between him and the Ivaslander. Magistrate Stephens, if the clothes were anything to go by: he wore a fine linen shirt dyed deep green, and half a dozen silver pins glittered on the collar. He was completely at odds with the prisoner, a small man who wore the drab clothes of an Embrian miner and a hard, determined expression.