Clay watched Krizelle navigate the scaffolding with the practised ease of an oft-performed task, descending a series of ladders before entering the wide opening in the cliff. She descended a long narrow passage then followed a winding course deep into the rock. The passage was lit by a soft orange glow that grew brighter the deeper they went. A five-minute journey brought them into a large cavernous chamber where a single walkway led from the passage to a large central platform. Beneath the walkway a series of stepped terraces descended towards a bright, fiery red circle. Clay had to squint at it to make out the sight of roiling lava. On each of the surrounding tiers lay eggs, hundreds, perhaps thousands of eggs all bathing in the glow of the lava pit.
“The crystals need thermal energy to work,” Kriz explained. “The greatest source of continuous natural heat in this world comes from beneath the earth’s crust. It’s why this site was chosen. The entire construct rests atop an active lava-stream.”
“They hatched,” Clay said, nodding at the eggs. “That’s where that sickly White came from, and all those Greens and Reds.”
“It seems the stream and the fault-line that produced it have become more active in recent years, hence the tremors. The increase in temperature must have caused a mass hatching.”
A soft voice drew their attention to the central platform where Krizelle was greeting an older and thinner Zembi. He stood at the edge of a large circular pit in the floor of the platform. A faint huffing sound came from the pit, along with the scrape of something hard on stone. Whatever lay below seemed to absorb Zembi’s complete attention and he failed to turn when Krizelle entered. Clay noted she came to a halt several yards from the edge of the pit and seemed distinctly disinclined to venture any closer.
Krizelle stood in silence for a time, watching her adoptive father with an expression that veered from frustration to concern and back again. To Clay’s eyes she seemed to be the same age as the Kriz he knew, meaning whatever was about to occur had taken place shortly before she began her centuries-long sleep.
“Hezkhi’s back,” Krizelle said, causing Zembi to stir from his reverie, though he barely glanced at her.
“And?” he said, a slight irritation to his voice.
“You were right. The Philos Enclave is abandoned. He flew on to the city, seeing burning buildings . . . people rioting in the streets. Then he landed in the desert and walked to a settlement. The people there were full of stories about abominate children born with vile powers. They say Speaker Zarhi launched a purge of these abominations, and for her pains one of them assassinated her three years ago. Since then . . .” Krizelle shrugged, repeating softly, “You were right.”
Zembi gave a vague nod and returned his attention to the pit. Clay saw Krizelle bite down some angry words before forcing herself to step closer. “Still no response?” she asked.
“Your sister tried again this morning.” Zembi waved a hand at something lying near by. “Nothing.”
Clay turned to the object, finding it to be a crystal, one of four in fact. They were shaped differently from the other crystals he had seen in Kriz’s memories, with jagged spines that gave them a star-like appearance. They gave off no illumination but he was able to discern that they were all different colours: red, green, blue and one so dark it seemed to swallow the light. His mind immediately flew to the domes and the crystals he had seen there, the blue one that had so entranced the Spoiled Briteshore miners.
“You should destroy it,” Krizelle said, drawing his gaze back to the pit. She had edged closer to Zembi, but still kept several feet between herself and the edge. The expression on her face as she leaned forward to peer at the occupant was one he had seen before, back when she blew up the pack of Blues with her bomb-thrower.
“Premature,” Zembi muttered in response. “She still has much to show us.”
Krizelle let out a sigh and removed her gaze from the pit. “Father, the situation at home . . .”
“This is your home.” The old man finally turned to face her, a vestige of a paternal smile on his lips.
“My own kind are being persecuted. Hunted like animals . . .”
“And what fate do you imagine awaits you if you return? I built this place to be a refuge for you and your siblings, a place to shelter from the storms I knew were coming. The world changed forever with your birth, and change is never easy.”
“You expect us to just live out our days in this . . . pretence of a world? Some of the others have started calling it a prison, and consider you their gaoler.”
Zembi let out a sigh of his own, though it was more of a resigned groan. “Then it’s time,” he said, starting towards the walkway.
“Time for what?” Krizelle called after him.
“To sleep,” he said, voice echoing in the cavern. “You always knew this day would come. We will sleep and, fate permitting, awaken to a better world . . .”
His voice faded away, leaving Krizelle in silent contemplation. She remained still for some time, arms folded tight across her chest, then started as a loud, rasping roar came from the pit.
“Be quiet!” Krizelle shouted, moving to the edge of the pit where she stared down at the occupant in unabashed hatred. After a second her face softened to a resentful mask and she stepped back again. “It’s unfair of me to despise you so,” she said. “We have so much in common, after all. Like you, it appears I should never have been born.”
As she turned to go Clay stepped forward, looking down and finding himself staring into the eyes of a White Drake. It was about a third the size of a full-grown adult, its scales marked by ugly wet patches like the one they had killed on the mountainside. His pulse began to race as he continued to stare into the beast’s eyes, bright with understanding and dark with malevolent promise. Knows it’s in a cage, he thought. And doesn’t like it.
“Father’s greatest achievement,” Kriz said, moving to Clay’s side. “The product of decades of cross-breeding and chemical interference. It was supposed to be the key to convergence, a great and precious gift that would change everything.”
“You made it,” Clay said, his thumping heart slowing as a cold anger built in his chest. “You brought it into the world.”
There was a tightness to her gaze now, her features clenched against something it took him a moment to recognise: shame. “You didn’t know, did you?” he asked. “What it was capable of. You had no idea.”
Kriz stared at him for a moment, frowning in incomprehension until the realisation hit home. “The threat you spoke of,” she whispered. “The thing you woke up. Is this it?” Her voice rose as she stepped towards him, gripping his shoulders, demanding. “Did it get loose . . . ?”
She trailed off as a shudder ran through the trance, the surrounding cavern taking on a misty appearance. “What’s happening?” she said.
“The Blue’s starting to thin,” Clay said. “Whatever you brought us here to do, you need to do it now.”
She cast a frantic gaze down at the now-shimmering form of the White. “But there’s still more to show you, more to explain . . .”
“We ain’t got time. You said we needed to trance to open that thing. How do we do it?”