Gwil and Challe stood atop a pile of ruins. Above and to their left was the collapsed floor of the atrium. A waterfall spilled from that crumbling mouth, spraying their faces with mist as it poured past.

  Lightning and thunder beckoned them. Gwil put his arm around Challe’s waist, and she put two of hers around his shoulders. He flared Nirva and jumped up—into the atrium, into the storm, into the purview of the king.

  They landed in the knee-deep lake that spanned the atrium’s central chamber. Green lightning shone through the breach, and there was an arrangement of unnatural white lights on tall poles—he’d seen something similar in Podexia. The piles of broken stone scattered throughout served as islands. Gwil set Octavia down in the water, telling her to go swim somewhere safe.

  The floodwater possessed a current as it rushed to drain through the various chasms in the floor. Gwil grabbed hold of a tree branch, and they pulled their way toward the skeleton of a building.

  Inside, they found a corpse mangled beyond recognition. Challe again performed her gesture. “Where is everyone?” she asked without turning from the body.

  “A ton of them got away for sure, Challe,” Gwil said. “I saw Leira and Cort with them.”

  They clambered up a collapsed staircase to look out the window at the top.

  “What is that?” Challe asked. She spoke at a normal volume, heedless of the deafening thunder. Indeed, the storm ebbed at her words, as if making way for her voice.

  Gwil grinned at that, but Challe didn’t seem to have noticed the effect she had.

  Some thirty meters ahead, near the pavilion’s center, was a big metal structure floating on a bunch of buoys.

  “A boat?” Gwil shouted. “But where’s Yuma?”

  Challe held onto the windowsill with a white-knuckle grip. “Why was Tezca so terrified of this king?”

  Gwil shrugged. “Tezca was scared of everything. C’mon, let’s go check out the boat. There can’t be too many people in there.”

  He climbed up through a hole to reach the building’s roof, then knelt to pull Challe up.

  “We probably shouldn’t just swim up, but…”

  Looking around the atrium to find a way across, Gwil’s heart fluttered, then sank. He’d thought to use one of the waterways they’d ridden earlier, but they’d all been destroyed.

  There was another avenue, though. Near the foot of this building, a section of balcony had collapsed, forming a sort of ramp. They could reach the boat by jumping off the raised end.

  “Wait,” Challe hissed. “Shouldn’t we…” She shook her head. “What are we gonna do?”

  Gwil spun to face her and nearly got blown off the building. “Challe, what the hell? Do you see what they did?”

  She glared at him.

  “You wanna sit around? Or do you wanna go beat the shit out of them?” Gwil held out his hand.

  Challe clasped his hand with a nice, strong slap.

  “We already have a plan anyway,” Gwil told her. “Show him the Spike and get him to chase us.”

  Gwil moved to the far edge of the roof to get a running start and then leaped off. He landed on the heap of ruins at the bottom of the ramp, breaking his ankle as it slipped into a crook.

  He cracked it back into place and then shook it out.

  “What the hell?” Challe screamed. “What am I supp—”

  “Just jump,” Gwil said, waving her toward him. “You can do it just like I did. Push the fiery stuff into your legs.”

  Challe backed up, shifting around on her feet.

  “Don’t think about it so much,” Gwil called.

  Challe ran and jumped, and she gave it a good try. And she was amazing at falling through the air. With all her extra arms, she could flail better than anyone.

  But the building had shifted beneath her when she leapt off, stifling her force and throwing her off course. She landed on her side, smacking her head on the corner of a stone block.

  Gwil dashed to catch her by the arm before she fell into the water.

  Challe screwed up her face, clutching at her head wound as blood poured down. “Fuck,” she whimpered.

  “No, what?” Gwil said. “You made it, so it was perfect. It doesn’t even matter when we get hurt. Look.”

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  He pulled her hand away from the wound. “You can do the same thing you did when you jumped. Just push the Nirva into your head and it’ll heal even faster.”

  Challe closed her eyes and hissed through her clenched teeth. Gwil grinned. He just wanted to keep her distracted from everything else.

  Over the course of a couple dozen heartbeats, the wound stopped bleeding and scabbed over. Challe touched it with her fingertips. “I can do all this without the goddess?”

  “Of course you can,” Gwil said, nodding. “You’ve been using Nirva for, what, twenty years? You know what you’re doing.”

  Challe stood up; a bit wobbly—she’d lost a lot of blood.

  “I dunno what that statue and crucifix stuff did for you,” Gwil said. “But I’m sure you can still use your storm powers, too. They’re yours. You just gotta figure out how to do it on your own.”

  Challe cracked her neck and then nodded. They made their way up the ramp, crawling over the debris. Hailstones pelted them and a bolt of lightning struck the water below.

  Gwil went to the edge to get a better look at the boat. They could probably enter via the hatch on the roof. “Oh! I can see people.”

  Through the gaps in the structure, he saw a woman reading a book and a man eating a sandwich. A group of three were examining a big green vase.

  Challe came over to get a look. “What the- Why are they going through our garbage?”

  “Huh?”

  “That green thing is a trash can,” Challe said.

  Gwil shrugged. “Let’s go ask. You up for a bigger jump?”

  He scrambled up to the peak of the ramp. Looking down at the boat, it was further than he’d thought. But with the height she could make it.

  Gwil looked up at the armored vehicle that spanned the breach in the ceiling—he had a better view here. The shape reminded him of a turtle, except with wheels and machinery sticking out everywhere. It must’ve been huge if they weren’t worried about it falling into the fissure.

  Gwil jerked his head as a rock flew past his face.

  “Don’t make me do that, please,” Challe said.

  “You don’t have to,” Gwil said. “I can throw you if you want.”

  Before Challe could respond, a brick hit Gwil on the back of the head.

  He whipped around, squinting through the mess of hail and rain. Motion caught his eye.

  “Ooh!”

  Over in the next pavilion, Leira and Cort were jumping up and down and waving their arms. They looked like they were screaming, but Gwil couldn’t hear them. He cupped his hand to his ear, then shook his head.

  Cort pointed and gestured, his hands flapping all around. Gwil looked where he was pointing, but it was just a bunch of broken buildings, same as everywhere else. Leira swatted at Cort and then performed her own series of gestures. Gwil held out his arms in a shrug and mouthed, “What?”

  Cort put his hands on his head. Then he put up one finger. He held it until Gwil nodded. He pointed at whatever he was pointing at again. Gwil turned, waited a beat, and then looked back and nodded. Cort held out his palm, then smashed his fist down on it.

  Gwil gave him a thumbs up.

  “What were they saying?” Challe asked as Cort and Leira waved goodbye and then disappeared behind a broken wall.

  “Just telling us to go beat them up,” Gwil said, punching his palm. “Let’s go.”

  He scooped her up in his arms, pumped his legs full of Nirva, and launched across the gap.

  They landed with a tremendous clang on top of the boat, denting the roof. Inside, a bunch of voices cried out as the thing heaved in the water.

  Gwil set Challe down and crouch-walked to the hatch. He looked at how to open it. There was a handle… and it was unlocked. Easy. As he inched the thing open, the wind ripped it clean off the hinges.

  He gripped the edge of the entryway and, pop, shrank down to ant-size as he threw himself down the hole.

  Gwil landed ready to fight, but no one had rushed the entrance.

  Instead, he saw about a dozen colorful people who’d all pressed themselves against the wall opposite the hatch. They were cowering and clamoring with each other. One brandished a magnifying glass; another wielded a ladle.

  The space was full of metal crates and various pieces of equipment were scattered across the floor. Not weapons, but things like shovels and brooms. Hm.

  Pop. “Hello!”

  He was greeted by screams and a volley of handheld objects. Gwil’s eyes lit up as he spotted the half-eaten sandwich amidst the projectiles. He caught it and stuffed it into his mouth—he was starving.

  As Gwil chewed, one old man came forward, crawling on hands and knees. He, like all the others, wore shorts and a tropical shirt. He bowed his head to the ground.

  “Have mercy, we surrender! We are not combatants. We’re scholars. It would be a crime against humanity for you to harm us and destroy the knowledge we possess.” He spoke as if reciting. “We have no involvement in your conflict with King Yuma.”

  “Huh?” Gwil looked up at the others, who were still huddled together. A few had their eyes squeezed shut. Most of them were older, and none looked very formidable.

  “We of the Archaeologists Guild are innocent bystanders. We only wish to pursue our research. We will not participate in any fighting. If you harm us, you would only be harming yourself—not to mention the damage done to our species’ collective knowledge—because Yuma would be furious.”

  “What’s going on?” Challe said, sticking her head through the hole in the ceiling.

  “C’mon down, Challe,” Gwil said. She did so, using a ladder that Gwil hadn’t noticed.

  “Mm, can you close the hatch, madam?” someone said. “Where are your, mm, manners?”

  Gwil located the speaker and saw that he had glowing blue skin, just like Dr. Buzzard. He hadn’t noticed before because the man’s shirt was also blue, depicting a sunny sky.

  “Wait, wait,” Gwil said, holding his hands up. “Are you all prisoners or something? You don’t work for Yuma? You can escape with us if you want.”

  “Oh, no…” Challe muttered from beside Gwil, her face buried in all four hands.

  “We are Magister Yuma’s students. He is the World’s most renowned authority on archaeology.”

  Gwil furrowed his brow. “But you’re so old.”

  “One is never too old to learn,” the man said, his forehead still firmly on the ground. “Please, I beg you. We are only here to study the temple.”

  “Stand up,” Gwil said. “I’m not gonna—”

  Challe pushed past Gwil. “What is this nonsense?” she shouted, leaning over the man and keeping him from standing. “You’re destroying the temple.”

  “We always strive to preserve as much as possible,” the man whimpered. “But some damage is unavoidable. The past builds walls around its deepest secrets.”

  Gwil pulled Challe back. “Where’s the king?”

  The old man stood, and his companions scurried forward to gather around him. All fired up and yelling, they pressed to surround Gwil and Challe.

  “Why would you ever seek to harm Magister Yuma?”

  “He has been alive for over nine hundred years! How dare you!”

  Gwil pushed back against them. “Hey, I thought—”

  “His mind is a precious receptacle of early-post-Apocalypse history!”

  “I don’t care about that,” Gwil said. “Where is he?”

  “Gwil!” Challe shrieked.

  A frigid blade plunged through Gwil’s back, crunching through his ribs.