“Open the gate!” Davidia cried. “Get her back here before the deathkites dive!” But Dr. Avanthikar had a head start, and was already over the water. Gajarajan flashed back from the wall beside the gate to the dark chamber of the first great hall at blinding speed, to rouse the shadowless for help. By the time he had woken them and gotten them outside to try to do something—anything—to stop the deathkites, Dr. Avanthikar was already dying.
GAJARAJAN AND DAVIDIA CONTINUED TO WATCH THE CARRIAGES as they raced closer, thundering across the bridge. He could make out a new detail by then, one that caught his attention more firmly than anything had in a long time: the wooden structures rode low on their turning wheels, as if heavily burdened. The shadow leaned back against his wall and looked at his guard captain, to see if she’d also seen. They’d heard the rumors then. That he was seeking something.
“They’re bringing a lot with them,” Gajarajan said to her. “More than any other group before.”
“Not weapons to attack us?”
“Likely not weapons.” He watched, transfixed. What could all of it be, and so much of it?
Davidia nodded. “As soon as I find out what it is, I’ll send someone to inform you if any of it could be what you’re looking for.”
“Thank you,” he said as she disappeared down the hill. He returned to studying them. He had not felt hope since Dr. Avanthikar died. The strangers were coming in a dead sprint now, as if being chased for their lives, even though there was nothing behind them.
So many shadows. Every single one of them, it seemed. Inside his body, Gajarajan felt the heart beat faster. Whatever was in the carriages might prove to be very useful indeed.
Orlando Zhang
BY THE DAY’S END, ZHANG HAD BEEN PLACED INTO A ROOM on the second floor of an old wooden house named House 33. That was how things were divided in New Orleans—houses had been carved up into private rooms, with everyone sharing the kitchen and bathrooms. Ahmadi was given the room next door. Vienna, Malik, and the two remaining Smiths were assigned spots in House 32, and the rest of the soldiers placed in open rooms across Houses 34 to 45.
Living that way reminded Zhang of Elk Cliffs in a way. All of them together in a little community, sharing chores, laughing instead of jumping at every errant sound. Whenever he went into the kitchen to get a piece of bread—every House got half a loaf per tenant every other day from the city—or fill his glass with water they’d dragged up in buckets and boiled to purify, his heart thrilled to see so many other humans, doing ordinary things. Washing dishes or sweeping the floor.
Ahmadi was standing in the kitchen when Zhang walked in at dawn after the army’s first night there, bent over the cutlery drawer. “Do you know where the spoons are?” she asked. They both stared at each other for a moment, and then Zhang burst into tears, startling her so badly she jumped and the drawer fell out of the counter, spilling everything. It was so fucking normal, he couldn’t stop crying.
AT FIRST ZHANG HADN’T KNOWN IF VIENNA WOULD BE ALLOWED into the city, after they realized she was shadowless. Or if the rest of them would be let in either, because they had been near her when it happened. But they were allowed in—all of them. New Orleans welcomed Vienna exactly the same way they did the rest of Zhang’s army, as if nothing was different at all.
“I need you to come with me for a moment,” Davidia said to Zhang as soon as they’d dragged the carriages in through the gate and unhooked the horses.
“I can’t leave the others,” he said.
“The One Who Gathers—he’d like to meet you.”
At that, everyone paused. Zhang, Malik, and Ahmadi all looked at one another. “The One Who Gathers is . . . really real?” Zhang finally asked.
“Yes,” Davidia said.
It seemed impossible. But Davidia was speaking not like one who had also heard the rumors, but like one who had seen the owner of all the names with her own eyes. “The Stillmind?” Zhang stammered. “The One with a Middle but No Beginning? The One Who Does Not Dream?”
Davidia nodded, smiling. “Yes,” she said again.
The stunned silence lingered for what felt like hours. All the stories, all the things he’d seen written on walls. It was really true.
“Go,” Ahmadi finally managed. “We won’t move until you’re back.”
“Watch the carriages,” he said to her and Malik. He felt her hand in his own for an instant, squeezing firmly. He squeezed it back for courage and then set off after Davidia.
The walk was long, and she was always ahead. “Keep up,” she said to Zhang over her shoulder, but kindly.
Zhang tried not to gawk, but he couldn’t help it. New Orleans was unfathomable. Every turn was more surprising than the next. Some things still lay crumbled, but others had been rebuilt, either through magic or through labor. Zhang did a double take when he thought he even saw lights on in one of the buildings, but couldn’t be sure. All around them, people talked in the streets, instead of killing or running. Some had shadows, some did not. Most amazing of all, the ones that did not didn’t seem to be afraid—even when they forgot what they were doing midaction. Before they could startle, another shadowless or shadowed person would come to their aid, and they’d be laughing again within seconds.
“The One Who Gathers did all this?” Zhang asked.