The Everburning City

Act 1, Part 2, Chapter 7

The shadow hesitated, cringed, and turned away. All things Gwendolyn was expecting, and dreading.

"So none of you actually know the Crafters you're expected to keep from killing us?" Gwendolyn asked. "That seems cruel."

"I'm not happy about it either," the shadow said.

"Cruel for them," Gwendolyn said, pointing at the Crafter still conversing with Valen. "I understand the need for your role, but to not even know someone well enough to tell when they've lost some part of who they were? When you can't even tell their madness apart from a frayed temper because they're tired or angry or grieving? And your Bureau is okay with this?"

The shadow surprised her. Her accusations were meant to sting, but the shadow only smiled sadly and nodded. "You know, you'd make a good shadow. You'd fit in Oversight like a broken foot into a too-small boot, but you'd be good at the job."

The shadow turned, and held out his hand. "Mackaroy O'Fallow."

"Gwendolyn Aranhall."

The next few moments passed in silence, but there was little opportunity for that quiet to become awkward. Up ahead, the older Crafter Gwendolyn presumed to be the leader reached Mildred and Hendricks.

"This is the spot," Valen called out, detaching himself from the conversation he was in, and moving ahead to join Mildred.

"Good," the lead Crafter said, and he pointed to the spot he was standing at. "Then let's get prepped. Drower, start at the end. Leave each of us about twenty yards of space to work. Keep your heat haze up. Prioritize concussive force."

"Well, that's my cue," Mackaroy said, and he started to follow the Crafter. "And who knows. This might even go well."

Three Crafters marched past him in turn. As Crafter Saval passed, he followed her a little ways down the wall, at which point he chose a spot and stopped. "We'll wait for the Golem to get within a half-mile. Until then, keep your heat hazes up, and be ready for anything."

"Burn brightly!" One of the other Crafters called out, and the others took up the call.

It was the creed of their guild, and words then City had survived by for centuries. But hearing them from these coddled, overconfident aristocrats as they seemed to refuse to take the danger seriously, left Gwendolyn with a cold dread.

That fear was mollified, somewhat, by the screams of the wind as the Crafters applied their will. A gale of scalding hot wind whipped by Gwendolyn, and she coughed and closed her eyes to try and shield herself from the now frighteningly hot air. An orchestra of cracks and blasts rattled her head and made her teeth chatter. She put a hand on her head, and stepped away.

But as quickly as it started, it stopped. The heat vanished, the orchestra of pummelled air was silent, the air almost unnaturally still. More than still, as if the air were being held in place.

Gwendolyn opened her eyes to the sudden and profound peace that now surrounded her. The air still carried waves of bright red light, and explosions pounded the dust off the walls and tossed it about. But she saw it as if she were watching it through a glass window, somehow severed from the cacophony of violence and fire.

Someone stepped up beside her, and rested a hand on her shoulder. "Are you all right?" someone asked. Gwendolyn recognized him, the apprentice who had accompanied the Crafters. Vincent, she recalled.

"I'm okay," Gwendolyn said, straightening up and tilting her hat back. "I just wasn't expecting that."

"Hardly anyone ever does," Vincent said, and he pointed behind him, where the other soldiers were gathered. "If you'd wait over there with the others, I'd like to contract my heat haze, and keep us out of the way as much as possible."