It’s an effort to look past the fallen Ashlords. All three are dead. The fourth is back in the desert, food for birds or wolves or worse. My eyes fix on the figure, though, and finally I recognize him. “Luca?!”
The last time I saw him he had a guitar in hand. He watched my first rebellion against Oxanos, so it’s only fitting that he’s here for my second effort. He’s exchanged the guitar for a sword, though I notice Bastian kept him out of the action just in case. We embrace in a hug.
“You’ve got every village in the Gravitas stirred up something nice,” he says, releasing me. “My father got your instructions. The plan worked.”
“So far,” Bastian puts in. “If we can help you pull this off, you’ll be a proper legend.”
I frown. “Help me pull this off? Isn’t it over now?”
Bastian’s grin widens. “You think they’ll send just four of them? What’s your take?”
That question has my eyes narrowing. “My take?”
“On the belt,” he says. “That’s what you stole, right? Components?”
I nod, but don’t answer right away. My silence drags a laugh from him.
“Look, it’s all yours. That’s a Dividian rule, a mountain rule. Every outlaw here respects that. If you steal something from the Ashlords, it belongs to you. No questions asked. And if you think I’m going to steal something from Dig’s niece, you’re out of your mind.”
Dig. I’ve never heard someone call my uncle by that nickname. Luca just nods.
“It’s safe, Imelda. That’s the code. The only threat to you now will be Ashlords.”
A weight slips off my shoulders. “Let’s just say the belt is worth a lot.”
“A hundred and fifty thousand legions sound right?” Bastian guesses.
It’s not a bad guess, either. Clearly he’s smart. “More than that.”
Some of his crewmates whistle. Bastian just keeps grinning.
“Well, you have it on you, right?”
I lift my riding jacket just enough for him to see the cubes clipped onto the front of my utility belt. He nods once before looking around at his troupe, making sure everything’s in order. I glance around, too, gauging how interested his soldiers are in my take, but they look too busy looting their own treasure. Luca shakes me by the shoulders.
“That was brilliant, Imelda.”
I smile at him as Bastian’s soldiers finish their work. He orders us to start marching as soon as everything’s been picked clean. I watch as he sweeps the long hair out of his face and looks back at me over one shoulder. He seems pleasantly surprised by me.
“So. You’re the Alchemist, huh?”
I smile at him. “Now I am.”
Another curse slips through your lips.
Why did Quinn ruin everything? If it had been you down in that pit, Etzli would have ridden by and laughed as she did. That’s how Ashlords work. Another person’s misfortunes only mean your gain, your victory. Quinn’s apparently never learned to live by those rules.
Frustrated, you give Trust’s lead rope a sharp tug. The horse protests before picking up his pace. The light from his coat casts a soft glow a few feet ahead. Enough to be sure of your footing, but little more. Above and beyond, the darkness of the tunnel unsettles you, especially now that Quinn isn’t at your side.
“And then she guilt-tripped me, Trust. Like I was this awful person for not stopping to help out, even though my entire future is on the line.”
The horse follows in silence. You let out another frustrated noise and continue to make your patient way through the narrowing cave. The air fills with vibrant heat. You let your eyes run ahead, searching the darkness for signs of movement. You’re not sure what you’ll find. You’re not even sure why you’re doing something so stupid.
“All this for some random spirit.”
You can hear the grunting noises. Heavy breathing echoes from the tunnel ahead and you finally spot little Quinn. She’s rigged the rope around an outcropping of rock. She has half a length wound around both hands and she’s nearly horizontal as she tries to pull, inching the rope away from the distant pit. Etzli’s pitiful moans echo from somewhere below.
Quinn’s face is streaked with sweat and her arms and wrists are singed red by her efforts. Either the light or Trust’s clomping footsteps catch the girl’s attention. She doesn’t loosen her grip, but her dark eyes burn in your direction. The look she gives you is furious.
“What?” she snaps. “Are you lost?”
“Look, you were right. I’m sorry. Let me help.”
“Why?” Quinn asks. “Why come back? Figured out that leaving made you a horrible person? Or maybe you came back for some selfish reason? Can’t go on without me?”
You came back because it felt wrong. That natural impulse that’s been carved into you for your entire life. In the quiet whispers of your proud parents. In the heart-pounding cheers of full stadiums. Always reinforcing one truth: Win at all costs. Be the best. Fight hard and burn brighter. You have never doubted the righteousness of that feeling until now. So you came back.
Once, you’d have been too proud to admit that.
“I was wrong. You were right. Let me help.”
Quinn’s eyes narrow, but she gives you a conceding nod. You lead Trust forward and attach a line to the back of his saddle. Quinn uncoils the rope around her wrists and edges her way forward, allowing you to work with the slack. Calmly, you tie a pair of riding knots. After giving each of them a testing tug, you turn Trust around. Quinn doesn’t let go of the rope until she sees the light moving up the tunnel and Etzli’s body lifting slowly from the nightmare.
The two of you kneel at the edge of the quagmire together.
“I’m sorry.”
“I know,” Quinn replies. “Just…I know.”
Etzli dangles and bounces until her arms are in reach. Both of you lean down to help pull her up over the ledge. For a second, you imagine the shock Etzli will feel being pulled out by Quinn’s invisible hands, but then you remember she can see Quinn, too. The same way you saw hers and Revel’s spirits.
Etzli collapses face-first, heaving thick breaths. You stop yourself from groaning at the slick smears of mud she’s leaving on your brand-new leggings. Instead, you kneel down and push the girl’s hair away from her face. Each ragged breath beats back your disgust. She might be dirty, but at least she’s alive. Quinn was right. Abandoning Etzli would have been the same as signing her death sentence.