My jaw had gone slack, completely at a loss for what to do. Mist from the block of Ice swirled upwards, curling around Split’s fingers, which I prayed wouldn’t flinch. If the Pedlar pulled the trigger, the Coldmarch was over.
Shilah raced to the Pedlar without fear, inching her hand in between the arrow and his throat. It wouldn’t stop the weapon if Split chose to squeeze, but her confidence was as good as a steel barrier.
‘You’re part of this,’ Shilah said softly, curling her palm around the tip of the arrow, almost enough to make a fist. ‘We need you, Split.’
Split gulped as his eyes slipped sideways and fell again on the Droughtweed pit.
‘Tell Meshua to go burn forever,’ Split exhaled, his thumb shaking so badly it was now tapping the release. ‘Didn’t save anyone.’
Shilah slowly removed Split’s hand from the trigger. ‘You can save us. Help bring the machine to Langria. Be a part of this.’
The Pedlar’s face cycled through a dozen emotions, and finally he let out a long sigh and dropped to his knees, the crossbow skittering across the floor. Shilah was quick to pick the weapon up and take the arrow off the shaft, giving me a calm nod, almost as if she did this sort of thing every day. The knife never even left her thigh.
Saving my admiration for later, I reached over the Ice and put a hand on the Pedlar’s shoulder, my whole arm tingling.
‘She’s right,’ I said. ‘We need you, Split.’
‘Show mercy, and tell me it’s a trick,’ Split said, his eyes closed tightly, refusing to look at the Ice. ‘Is it expected that I forgive everything? Just like that?’
‘It’s real,’ I said. ‘And I’ll tell you everything you want to know.’
‘You have the miracle,’ Split said, face still scrunched tightly. ‘The golden tears of the World Crier’s child. And you don’t know Meshua.’
‘I don’t know. But we need to keep the Coldmaker safe. Now can you get us to Langria before the hounds track us down?’
Split opened his eyes and pressed his palms on the ground as flat as he could, the mist that had settled against the floor slipping through his fingers. Then he looked up at me, boring into my eyes. Anger had slipped away, and of all the things plaguing his face, regret now ringed his eyes the most.
‘Don’t you understand?’ he asked, pointing a finger at the block of Ice. ‘This is the miracle; this is Langria. And it’s not just hounds that they’re going to send.’
Split’s hands moved like heat lightning as he scooped out mounds of ash, burned leaves, and slag from the small pit in the floor. Tossing the residue aside, he wiped his hands on his already ruined shirt, leaving long black smudges. The air in the shack quickly became dusty and thick from the flurry of upended Droughtweed remains, making me hold my breath so I didn’t cough or inhale too much. Once the plant touched fire, the smell turned from earthy to sickly sweet. The tang caught in the back of my throat and reminded me of things of which I didn’t want to be reminded.
I looked at the Ice, over which Split had reverently draped his thin sleeping blanket, making sure that it wasn’t sullied by his senseless digging.
Cam leaned in and whispered in my ear. ‘I don’t think this is the time for him to huff Droughtweed and go on some vision quest, Spout.’
‘I’m not sure that’s what’s happening,’ I said. ‘You add leaves to make the slag more potent, you don’t wipe it clean.’
‘You do know your stuff. Can you say something to him?’ Cam asked. ‘I don’t think he likes me very much.’
I nodded, making my tone as gentle as possible. Split’s reactions were interesting to behold, making me wonder if I should have kept the Coldmaker secret.
‘Split,’ I said gently. ‘Perhaps it’s not the best time for that. We should be moving, and it’s best we take our wits along.’
Split had already removed most of the old deposit, and he grabbed a new strip of boilweed, wiping the pit clean. The cleaning didn’t make much sense, knowing from my weeks beholden to the Roof Warden that compounding the grey residue only made the visions and high stronger. He was ruining his supply.
‘Meshua and Ice,’ Split said to himself, his coughs coming out grey. ‘Wits don’t exist any more. So I have to get Baba Levante. I have to get Baba Levante. I made a promise that I would.’
‘Split,’ I said again, hoping the sound of his name might snap him back to reality. ‘We have to get moving.’
‘Absolutely,’ Split said, practically shining the pit now. ‘But first we have to go under.’
Shilah had returned to her place near the Khatclock, scrutinizing the edges for signs of a secret passageway the device might be hiding.
‘Okay,’ Split said, stopping and sitting back on his thin ankles, looking over the pile of ash and slag next to the pit. ‘It’s ready.’
I swallowed, taking a step back. ‘I don’t do that any more.’
I thought back to Old Man Gum from my childhood, curious about what event had sent him over the edge of sanity. We had to respect him, since he was the oldest and most weathered in the barracks, but no one ever took his babbling seriously. Now I had to know, who put what in the ground? Had the crazy loon from my past, with his toothless mouth and wild eyes, known about this Meshua as well?
‘Girl,’ Split said gently, still staring into the pit. ‘Shaylah. You can do it now. Open the clock and give it a turn.’
‘Shilah,’ she corrected firmly.
‘Fine,’ Split said, waving a hand. ‘Just don’t look at me.’
Shilah lifted the glass off the face of the machine. She didn’t seem nearly as lost as Cam and I in all of this. She spun the hands one full rotation in the same way Mama Jana had, and the large Eye clicked open, revealing gears behind. But instead of causing the whole creation to swing forwards, the Khatclock stayed where it was.
The floor opened up.
With an angry creak, the bottom of the Droughtweed pit fell to the side, revealing a tight passageway wide enough only for one person. Thin stairs dropped down into the darkness at an alarming angle, steep and slick.
Split coughed at the wave of dust stirred up by the floor’s disappearance, and gave a satisfied nod, his body visibly loosening. ‘Okay, let’s be quick. They’re going to be coming for us.’
Cam covered his mouth and spoke between fingers. ‘Shivers and Frosts, Spout. What is he—’
Split turned to Cam, his eyes still red and raw. ‘You don’t get to touch anything down here.’
Cam turned up his palms, taken aback. ‘Why are you singling me out?’
Split scoffed, turning back around and threading himself through the hole. ‘Tavors.’
Once the Pedlar had disappeared into the secret chamber, a tiny light blossomed within, casting flickering shadows back up the stairs. Shilah came over and gave the back of my neck a squeeze, her fingers lingering on my tattooed numbers. ‘He’s right. About what we made.’
‘Hmm?’ I asked.
She pointed to the Ice, and then,