Tamsin hummed a soft, deliberative sound, flipping through a stack of architectural drawings. The way the papers were strewn across the gnarled table wrought of pale pine made Diya want to organize them into neat stacks. Eventually, Tamsin exhaled and then looked to the politely silent carpenters for guidance. “Which requires the fewest trees to be felled?”

  A thin woman with a red diamond tattooed beneath her eye glanced at the other craftsmen before answering. “The third plan surely, my chief. It is practical and was drafted with recycled materials from New Avignon in mind.”

  “It’s settled then,” Tamsin said, removing her white mask so that they might see her slight smile. “Excellent work. Together we will build a new coven future generations can take pride in. See to it that construction begins as soon as possible. You have my blessing to take the workers you need into the ruins to reclaim the requisite materials.”

  Brief congratulations and pats on the back aplenty went around before they eventually filtered out of Tamsin’s chambers. It hardly resembled a living space fit for a chief—the furniture was weary and wobbly, the support beams were rough with rust, and not a window in the room was uncracked—yet it had a splendid view of the river. Tamsin seemed to like it just fine. Perhaps a life spent in a damp ruined city had a way of tempering one’s expectations.

  Not that life in Blacklung Bend was much better. At least here Tamsin could cultivate a living situation without oppressive finite limits on space or resources. Diya thought, staring out the window at the ruins of New Avignon beyond the twinkling river. It seemed to go on forever—a land of infinite horizons.

  Soft hands wrapped around her waist, and she felt warm breath on her neck as Tamsin’s cold cheek nuzzled against her.

  “How do you stay so focused on things here?” Diya asked, eyes still fixed on the horizon, surveying the clouds in the moonlit sky. “Zoralia is setting her trap as we speak, preparing to make her final move. Like a spider. Soon enough we’ve got to fly blindly into her web. Not to mention Arjun and his cursed weapon. Things just feel so hopeless. And here I am, fumbling like an idiot. Unable to cast even a single curse.”

  Tamsin sighed and her warm breath formed a faint fog on the cracked glass. “I’m their chief, Di. They’re all counting on me to keep them safe. The only way I can think to do that is to craft a serviceable home for them. And you’re no idiot.”

  “It’s been three days!” Diya grunted, slamming her hand down hard on the wooden desk, sending papers tumbling. “I haven’t even come close to successfully casting a curse—”

  “We have eighteen days left until the solstice. That’s it.” Tamsin interrupted. “When the time comes to face Zoralia and Arjun, I am going to be right by your side. That’s why it is vitally important that I do as much as I can now to set my coven up for success. What if I never make it back to them?

  “Don’t you dare speak that poison into possibility.”

  “Whether I state it or not changes nothing, Di. For us to have our best shot at this, you need to focus on your training. I have complete faith in you.”

  Diya wanted to lash out. To tell her how foolish and embarrassed her inability to attune the curse arts made her feel. How she desperately needed a better instructor. How the weight of expectation was crushing her. Instead, she simply buried it down deep and nodded, exactly as she always did.

  Tamsin seemed to read her like a book and ran her fingers through Diya’s braids, brushing her hair from her face reassuringly. “You are the chosen one, Di. And I was there that day in Ghanesha. I saw Arjun wielding a power that was never meant for mortals. You have nothing to be ashamed of in being cast down against such a foe.”

  Diya spun, brow raised. “What do you mean?”

  “I don’t know for certain.” Tamsin whispered, eyes darting around as if searching sheepishly for the right words. “But…I recognized something about the weapon he wielded that day…It felt familiar…but I couldn’t quite place my finger on why.”

  “But it was alien. A technology beyond any I’ve seen, and my father was an inventor. I’ve seen much.” Diya boasted.

  Tamsin nodded her head slowly. “Since I could walk, I’ve been exploring the ruins of New Avignon. Long have I wondered what caused the destruction of such an advanced civilization. The ruins offer clues.”

  “What manner of clues?”

  “For a time, I believed that the Skarlith caused the sundering. But the more I investigated, the more I came to find evidence that the builders destroyed themselves.”

  “How?” Diya asked.

  “By wielding a power never meant for mankind.” Tamsin said, shuddering then pointing to a massive crater in the west end of New Avignon. “Their unchecked ambition led to their doom. They wished to be gods. For their dissolute desires they were reduced to ash.”

  Diya narrowed her eyes and looked upon the scarred city. “That’s horrible. Truly. But how does it relate to Arjun?”

  “When I saw him that dreadful day, I recognized it. I had seen similar devices before. Nonfunctional of course, but undoubtedly the same. My search for you took me all over the world, and everywhere I looked bore similar scars from this infernal machinery. I have no idea how Arjun has gotten his hands on the blighted weaponry, nor how he has managed to get it operational, but he has no clue just how volatile it is.”

  All the color had drained from her face and Diya struggled to speak. “We have to stop them before…” Her words fell away to silence, and she found that she couldn’t shift her eyes from the crater.

  ***

  Cold water splashed against the drooling man’s bearded face, and he rolled out of bed, hitting the wooden floor with a hard bounce, then flailing awake with a startled gasp. It was an awful way to come to after a late night spent drinking and gambling. After he gathered his wits, he was sure to make his displeasure known.

  Spears of early morning amber light meandered through the cracked window illuminating Diya’s madly grinning face. She was dressed and prepared for a solid session of training, fully ready to seize the day, even holding Orwell’s knapsack and boots in her outstretched hand. “Today is the day. I either attune or I’m prepared to die trying.”

  “Well, that feels a bit melodramatic,” he grumbled, wiping his wet face with a rag.

  They journeyed out much deeper into the ruins this time. Late the night before Diya had been struck by the thought that training just outside the walls of the new coven, while convenient and safe, might be making her feel too comfortable. Often in her life, she had been driven to achieve her greatest accomplishments only when appropriately fueled by discomfort. With the sand in the hourglass rapidly draining away, she had one mantra solid as stone etched into her mind—that comfort was the enemy of success.

  Most of the early morning trek was spent in silence. Diya intended to use the time for self-reflection. To prepare herself mentally for the breakthrough day she so needed to manifest. Instead, she found herself distracted by the wondrous and diverse wildlife that inhabited the ruins of New Avignon. Growing up in Ghanesha hadn’t afforded her a tremendous wealth of biodiversity. Of course there was a wealth of birds that passed through, and of course the rats and other vermin constantly scavenging, but aside from that, the ecology primarily consisted of various cattle.

  In that regard, her time spent in New Avignon had been revelatory in many ways. On just that morning’s journey she had already seen a handful of animals she had only previously seen paintings of: a skulking family of red foxes, a lone long-nosed tapir, and a tangerine-hued snake the with a crest blue as the river.

  For how problematic the fallen civilization’s technology had been for them, and now centuries later for Diya and her homeland, the regional wildlife sure seemed to appreciate humanity’s monumental misstep. She envisioned the fissured streets bustling with people, each entirely focused on their own lives, likely paying no mind at all to the fauna or flora.

  The narrative has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the infringement.

  “How much longer do we need to go?” Cried a profusely sweating Orwell. “This isn’t some sort of death march, is it?”

  Diya climbed over the top of a collapsed statue that blocked the narrow street, not so much as casting a glance back his way. “We’re almost there. And it serves you right for staying out all night gambling, when you knew we had a hard day of training planned. You truly have no idea how much is riding on this.”

  “Yeah…yeah…yeah,” Orwell wheezed, struggling to get his stumpy limbs up and over the obsidian statue. “I think my limbs might turn to lead after this trip whether you find success or not!”

  She allowed herself a slight snicker as she crested a steep hill of debris. Upon reaching the top and looking down into what lay on the other side, her breath froze in her throat.

  They had reached their destination. Diya stood at the lip of the colossal crater. It spanned at least fifteen city blocks; a sobering visual of the history Tamsin had explained to her. Everything had been leveled: the towering buildings, the machines, and most hauntingly many of the people who had been caught in the blast had been frozen in time—turned to statues by the horrendous explosion.

  She reached into her satchel and held up one of the ceramic violet smoke bombs she had formulated. Rolling it in her fingers, the weight of the invention suddenly felt exponentially heavier.

  Could this have been a misstep I made? How many times have I been in my workshop tinkering with a new formula without having a firm grasp on the possible implications? Is it always the responsibility of the inventor to consider the potential effects of their creations? How can one truly consider every possibility? And if each probability cannot be contemplated how is anything ever meant to be invented?

  These questions echoed in her mind, reverberating through the synapses of her very being, as she moved to the center of the crater. Orwell, normally quick to quip, trailed her in silence, shaken by the gravity of the place. Upon reaching the center she gathered some kindling from the copious debris and started a small campfire.

  The strangely dressed statues stood like tombstones. Motionless. Expressions panicked or terrified, they were eternally frozen in fear. The presence of the ancient inhabitants sent a chill down Diya’s spine.

  I just hope that when I cross that bridge into the dark, that I’m remembered young and full of life, not like this. Not by my final moments.

  Orwell gingerly walked up beside her. “Can we leave this place? It’s…unnatural.”

  “Soon,” Diya replied, gaze fixed upon a nearby statue, it was a daughter clinging to her mother’s leg. “I think I was meant to take this all in. To properly comprehend the scope of what can come to pass, should I fail.”

  The stout man simply shifted his eyes to the ground and shook his head, unable to even begin to find the right words to answer.

  Diya shut her eyes and kneeled in meditation. After what felt to Orwell like an hour in the haunting place, she finally stood and nodded her affirmation that she was ready to attempt the curse.

  That’s when the burned out remains of a store collapsed behind them, alerting the pair that they weren’t alone.

  Diya spun around, hand instinctively falling to the flintlock holstered on her hip. Out of the dust, no further than thirty feet away, came six Skarlith warriors charging at them. The grey, leathery skin of the creatures shimmered in the sunlight as they skittered over the debris. The three in the front carried long spears with barbed razor-sharp bone tips, and the three behind wielded short bows.

  The thrum of bowstrings hung in the air, followed swiftly by the whooshing sound of arrows zipping past Diya. She exhaled, body instinctively rolling to the right, relief flooding over her that she hadn’t been hit by the first volley.

  There was a thud as Orwell fell to the ground, crying out in pain. Diya had time only for a cursory glance down to see that he had an arrow protruding from his thigh before the Skarlith war party was upon her.

  She jumped backwards, narrowly evading a stabbing spear. Still in the air, she pulled the trigger of her flintlock. Gunpowder ignited. The cloud of black smoke billowing.

  Firing from the hip was usually a terrible idea, but there was no time to aim when you were outnumbered six to one. Fortunately for her it was difficult to miss with enemies that close.

  A spear wielding Skarlith buckled to the ground, large hole blasted through his chitinous breastplate and chest.

  It seemed the other five didn’t much care for their fallen comrade, for they didn’t so much as glance down at them. Rather, they pressed onward, warriors with bows throwing them down and drawing what looked to be sharpened jawbones, plucked from some unfortunate creatures.

  The way her attackers began to encircle her caused her stomach to sink. It spoke to some sort of combat training, and that didn’t feel like a swell development for her.

  Still backpedaling to avoid being circled—a maneuver made difficult by the treacherous nature of the debris—she clutched the lone violet smoke bomb she had and hurled it at the feet of her assailants with a roar.

  Her heart skipped a beat when the ceramic orb smashed to the ground and failed to release even a puff of violet smoke. Two of the Skarlith warriors looked down at the anticlimactic attempt then cackled, spitting some clicking words at her she couldn’t understand.

  Yep, I guess I’m the worst inventor ever. She thought.

  Though she didn’t have an excess of time to wallow in her self-deprecation as the Skarlith charged forward stabbing and slashing with their spears. She did have time to narrowly avoid being skewered through the shoulder, dipping low and efficiently snatching up the fallen Skarlith’s spear.

  It was far from her first choice of weapon, firearms and explosives had always come more naturally to her, but still, she had been required to train with all manner of weapons at military academy. A requirement she was now more than thankful for.

  Therefore, when the five Skarlith surged forth overconfidently, Diya was quick to remind them that she was no helpless prey. She did so by parrying an incoming spear wide, sweeping her own out low, and knocking two of the attackers to the floor, and finishing the sequence by lancing one of the standing Skarlith hard through the shoulder.

  It cried out, flailing and stumbling backwards, unfortunately plucking Diya’s weapon right out of her hands with it. As the spear slipped away, she narrowly managed to get a hand on it. Gritting her teeth, she tried to yank the spear free, but found it was thoroughly stuck in.

  Ever resourceful, she rolled to the side and reached into her satchel. Her mouth went suddenly dry when she realized she only had a single bomb left. There wasn’t time to curse her poor preparation, and so instead she launched the bomb at the two Skarlith who were just getting back to their feet. They had just enough time to make a panicked clicking yelp.

  The thunderous boom that followed was confirmation that this explosive was no dud.

  Okay, maybe not the absolute worst inventor ever.

  All three enemies who had been on their feet were able to dive away just in time to avoid the explosion. Meanwhile, the two who had been knocked down by Diya’s clever spear sweep hadn’t been so lucky.

  As the thick black smoke swirled and blew away in the breeze, what remained of the two unlucky Skarlith came into view. After their violent introduction to black powder, there wasn’t much more then scattered limbs and gore.

  The three remaining Skarlith hesitated for a moment, glancing uncertainly around. One of the Skarlith shouted something that sounded frankly a bit vulgar. Clearly enraged by the way the battle was going, and their partners words, they rallied and charged back in. Spear wielders all felled, the three enraged Skarlith swung the jawbones wildly.

  Diya cursed as she struggled to avoid the frenzied slashes. Painfully aware that being weaponless was far from the ideal strategy to employ against three larger, armed opponents her eyes darted around desperately. The first thing that caught her attention was Orwell losing a lot of blood on the ground by the campfire. He was running out of time.

  The next thing was the spear sticking out of the bug man in the middle’s shoulder. Bugger was showing impressive resilience by remaining on its feet, let alone continuing to press forward.

  Let’s put that to the test. She thought, sidestepping an overhand slash and yanking on the spear with all her might. Despite her best effort the spear tip remained planted firmly in the enemies’ shoulder, she considered that it must have something to do with the barbed tip.

  It was a horrible sound that escaped the Skarlith warrior, it appeared to have taken its impressive resilience with it because he fell to the ground writhing in pain.

  Fortunately for Diya, when it collapsed the wooden spear haft snapped, leaving her holding a stick with a splintered tip. Not the most elegant weapon. But considerably better than nothing.

  The two Skarlith still standing began to circle to opposite flanks. Diya knew she was running out of time. She feinted high, and the enemy took the bait raising its jawbone to parry. With a flick of her wrist, she redirected her sharp stick low, intending to bury it in her enemies unarmored thigh.

  To her chagrin, her skilled maneuver never landed the way she intended. Instead, as she lunged, she felt a blast of searing pain as the jawbone bit into the back of her calf. Diya yelped and her sharpened stick only grazed her enemy’s thigh rather than skewering it. The splintered tip drew blood, but the enemy stayed on its feet.

  Mobility compromised, Diya hobbled backwards. Sensing that their prey was wounded, the two Skarlith began to toy with her, barking clicking phrases at her and cackling.

  With hot blood pouring from her calf Diya went on the defensive. She limped backwards, struggling to keep her enemies at bay with weak jabs of her sharp stick. One weak stab scraped the second Skarlith, drawing a thin line of blood, but it seemed unaffected.

  Feeling an intense heat behind her, Diya glanced back. She had retreated to the campfire and found herself with her back to the fire. Her enemies clicking intensified and with her retreat blocked, knew it was time to go in for the kill. From opposite sides they attacked.

  With all options exhausted, Diya had only one last hope.

  She closed her eyes and dropped her bloodied stick into the fire.

  Her mind emptied and time slowed around her. She thought of the heaviest thing she could think of—the nigh unbearable weight of expectation and the gravity of failing every last soul who was counting on her.

  Diya stood there, eyes closed, expecting to be struck down. And yet, the killing blow never came.

  Instead, she opened her eyes to find her two assailants utterly perplexed. Their hands still holding the jawbone weapons were glued to the ground. They writhed and screeched, but it was no use. No amount of force could free them.

  Diya had done it. She had broken through her self-imposed ceiling and successfully cast the curse of lead limbs.

  Adrenaline dwindling, the searing pain in her calf hit her like a bomb and she collapsed. Through misty eyes she saw a winged silhouette emerge from behind a burnt-out building. Shikra’s shrill shriek rang out, and the roc landed gracefully at Diya’s side.

  “You couldn’t have gotten here ten minutes ago?” Diya joked through gritted teeth.