Was it because of her? The appearance of Vish took him by surprise, but she was just another variable in a sea of unknowns. He should not be distracted – the decision was made.
Being a shadow, living constantly on the edge, sooner or later one can start believing in courage – a sequence of events where one false step could lead to failure, but every other step gave more strength and confidence to a shadow. It was as if each mistake changed for the better to a count of happy coincidences, like an invisible hand leading the shadows through any obstacles to their goal. Cates believed in courage because more than once it helped him get out of hopeless situations. He continued to believe and went down the spiral streets in the direction of the sea. Sometimes patrols of the lower links passed in front of him, but they did not notice another shadow among the thousands of other shadows. Cates, however, did not take risks and waited patiently until they moved out of the way.
As he approached the southern sections of the Fires, he circled around them along empty alleys of the unchained. He ran past scorched earth, past the remains of days gone by – traces of conflicts that few could remember. The Fires were united tribes and echoes of the old world. It was said that once they were scattered across the desert and eventually gathered under a white banner of a queen known as the Drawing-Thread. When she disappeared in the days of Decay, her followers grew embittered and gathered under the red banner of the Fires. Now they, like the Ashes, were the lord's followers. Their fanaticism, however, rarely went beyond the limits of what was permitted. Usually, they made noise and burned marks on their skin, but tonight, instead of the usual screams, they were silent.
Cates warned Vish to stay away from them, but she always did the opposite. Despite the little irritations, eventually every shadow had to resort to contracts from the lower links, since all the links were interconnected. At least the inquisitors were nowhere to be seen, but it was better not to catch their eye at all, with or without a contract.
One of the places on the shadow's path kept traces of the days of Decay – the confrontation that broke the integrity of the city. Histories of those days flashed through Cates's mind, but their reasons were unknown to him. The consequences of those days divided everyone into links, faceless, and unchained, and the burned sections of the city were left untouched as a reminder. Dying and murder were the most terrible taboos. The punishment was banishment without drops. Cates did not carry a weapon and could agree with this taboo because it was the basis for protecting shadows. A hook with a rope, however, when used correctly, always pulled him out of slippery situations, while only the inquisitors were allowed to carry weapons.
Cates lost something here many cycles ago, when he was still gray himself, and the Fires pulled him into their games. He could have lost more if the big shadow of little Vish had not driven them away. She didn't prance around back then:
"Pyromaniacs are easy to scare off, but getting rid of the fires is rather difficult, let's hurry… Cates, isn't it? I've heard about you – that situation with the glass house of the Ashes – it turned out well. Don't be surprised, you can't hide something like that from the shadows. I want to help you, because no one like us should be left alone. Believe me, for that manner of action one can obtain permission, and I suggest you become one of us. Your knowledge of the gray builders will give us an advantage, and our contracts will provide protection."
A secret can only be revealed once. Why was he thinking about her right now? Their previous contracts flashed before his eyes. How he led the shadows to hidden places, how he often watched over them or distracted the guards and made sure that Vish had an exit point. She always tried to be independent and took those contracts that dripped the most emerald drops. Did the kilns lead her to the Fires? Could she have done something different? Did all this matter to Cates? No, but that was how his world looked, and he was a part of it.
Block these thoughts out, focus! The fog in his head was dulling his perception, he was whispering something under his breath, his breathing was getting heavier. He needed to be focused, and now she was distracting him at the most inopportune moment. Maybe the sea would clear his mind before he changed his mind and turned back. The other side held the point of no return. The sounds of the waves touched Cates. He was getting close.
The stone staircase underfoot led down in a smooth serpentine, cutting through rough boulders along a gray cliff that took ultramarine onto itself and hid under the white splashes. The emerald sea of Emir was shedding the sapphire hues of its waves, preparing to accept the starry mantle of the sky. Cates stopped halfway down the stairs to catch his breath. Last time, invisible chains held him here in place. He was forced to return to the warmth of pillows and tasty pieces of shark at the top of his tower. The sky was about to leave its last faded stroke to allow the wolven sun to appear, and the cold would pour from its pale scars.
The darkest moment, the most terrible, trembling, but painfully familiar, gripped Cates. It was not from fear, he told himself. The kiln would soon warm him; he had only to climb to the other side of the bone-colored wall. The pier awaited him there. The stars above Cates lit themselves one by one. Among them, the noble and not at all wolfish grandeur of the moon appeared: its light reflected from the sea, slowly penetrating the ether-saturated air and concentrating in clouds of bright fog. Etheric particles – another consequence of the Cataclysm – held back the light and drove out weak shadows even from the darkest places. Cates continued to descend to the sea – this time the dark loosened its grip and he did not experience much resistance. His attention hid entirely in memory, sending into oblivion everything that was good in the city and everything that was bad.
He spent the rest of the journey without meeting a single soul, and then the docks appeared before him: a shell of piled-up walls of bent metal separated him from the way to the other shore. Cates approached the lowest wall, untouched by the ether, and threw the hook over the cornice. A few minutes later he was descending on the rope on the other side of the wall. No one was watching what was happening in the docks, since nothing was really happening down there. The hangars and warehouses were empty, the rusting metal of abandoned boats and ships was of little interest to anyone, and even faceless could cope with the sea during storms, not to mention that nobody was willing to risk the priceless kilns for a simple fish.
It seemed that not so long ago there were several sailors for each boat, each with a full kiln, but over time the city's resources began to dwindle, and emerald drops became rare. Most of the boats and skiffs were left unusable due to the decay and destruction brought on by unsinkable (unlike them) time. Now only whalers and the lord's ships remained to plow the sea. Cates, however, had long ago noticed one vessel that should be able to deliver him to the other side of the bay.
The docks held a jumble of ships of all sorts with rusty chains, and a small skiff hid among them. Cates approached the skiff and inspected its reliability. There was a time when he returned similar vessels from the other shore – those who did not return no longer needed them. Patina patterns covered the metal of the mechanisms, the portholes were mottled with dirty gold hues, hollow bones framed it for support, and beneath them were embossed the letters that made up its name: Kinitat. The time-worn sides of the skiff bore crude drawings of fish, symbols for good luck and calm waves, and beneath the helm sat a dormant engine. Seashells jingled on the transparent bottom of laminated glass.
The kiln compartment was empty, as expected. Cates desperately wanted to wake the skiff and cut the ferocity of the wave with its sharp nose. The lock on the chain yielded to a simple picking of the hook, without even having to use the needles. The emerald glow of the kiln reflected on the mechanisms and was ready to share its power.
The wind raised a wave that shook the skiff, but Cates paid no attention. The electric threads in his brain burned with the torment of invisible fears. What if this vessel sank? Would he be able to swim? Would there be a way back? He stared at the light of the kiln in his hand, guiding it into the appropriate slot. Even partially submerged, the kiln managed to stir the engine, and a warm, barely noticeable purr ran along the entire mechanism. Although Cates felt uneasy using this kiln, the corners of his mouth curled from the feeling of control at the tips of his fingers and the smooth vibrations emanating from the engine. Aiming the skiff's nose at the opposite side of the bay, Cates pressed the kiln deeper in and, as if invited