Legacy to Zero

17: A Key With No Copy

Harlow

After another two bus rides, each one longer than the last, and walking in seemingly aimless directions, River and I were engulfed in a new city.

It wasn't anything like entering Haryun—where the border came first, like the sliver of light before the sunrise. Instead, the flash of buildings and movement came all at once, leaving me looking over my shoulder, one hand over my hairline to take it in.

The roads were what struck me the most. I'd never seen so many cars. Traffic overtook three lanes on the side heading out—blocked in by concrete dividers emblazoned with yellow paint.

As the bus diverted to the side of the street, it let out a cluster of passengers. In synchronized chaos, they broke off in their own directions, dissolving into the flow of people.

It was a motion I could have sat watching endlessly.

Once the bus was back on its route, River shut the archive files—she'd spent the time reading them, while I'd grabbed a newspaper from a seat across from me, and ripped it apart to fold it into origami birds. The grey swans flocked the seats, perched on the bright upholstery and in a group on the space between us.

River reached above her head to tug on the faded red cord strung across every window seat. The display screen flashed, indicating a requested stop. I'd seen this process happen a few times now, so I scooted closer to the back doors and clutched the back of the seat.

I waited a beat before getting to my feet. In retaliation, River gave my shoulders a push forward.

I stumbled off the bus and out onto the sidewalk. With a hiss, the bus trundled along. River had the same idea, since she was off the instant her boots hit the ground.

Over her shoulder, she said, "Come on."

"I am." I trailed a few steps behind her. If it had been up to me, I'd have stopped for a bit, so I wasn't rushing to catch up with her and missing out.

On solid ground, though, the apartments rose from the paved grounds, high enough that they seemed to graze the airplanes coasting by. I dodged past a group of people to keep pace with River, swerving around bicycle racks and poles plastered with signs.

She turned at once, veering up a small incline. Leaves bent over the sidewalk as the branches from carefully lined trees overlapped in a dappled pattern of orange and yellow. Gates blocked by trimmed shrubs hid the houses from view. The scent of grass and soil carried through the air.

"Here we go," River announced when we'd arrived at a house at the apex of two crossing roads. Like the others it flanked, it was one storey high, a mosaic of bricks and cloudy windows. She placed one hand on her hip. "Let me do the talking, okay? If you have to speak, just don't tell her about me. Too political."

"How could it possibly be too—"

"Not everyone knows what you know. Not everyone knows unbound magic isn't obsolete, and not everyone knows I have it," she interrupted, the last sentence sounding almost practiced, as if it was one she'd repeated many times before.

I blanched. She hadn't yet struck me as the type who cared about shielding the truth.

She leaned over the wire gate, her thumb jabbing against its side. A dull clang rang out, followed by the shimmer of magic. This far from the city, she scattered into tiny flecks instantly, as if she was nothing but dust caught in the wind.

River hitched her boot against the gate. Her hand stretched to about halfway to the sky—grasping at something I couldn't see.

"It's an alarm system," she said, for my benefit. "Supposed to keep out intruders. Bound magic, but it knows me."