Exile: The Book of Ever

13: The Sunken City

Ever sat in the prow of the longboat, enjoying the feel of the cold ocean spray on her face as the craft scudded along the gentle waves of Jerusalem Sound. In the middle distance the water was a sheet of hammered gold in the sunlight. The day had grown warmer since morning. Rolan sat behind her, scribbling into a journal, as Chy and Acel manned two sets of long oars. The rhythmic splash-sweep of the oar-blades churning the dark water around their boat joined the high calling of gulls in a sort of nautical harmony. If she ignored the fact that they were fleeing for their lives and leaving their families to defend their homes against their mortal enemies, it was almost pleasant.

Their conversation in the clearing had helped break the tension they were all feeling. For a time Acel and Chy had seemed almost merry, taking to the oars of the boat eagerly and commenting on what a blessing the calm sea and beautiful weather was. Rolan had taken the opportunity to make notes in his diary, claiming he wanted to document it while the events of the morning—had they only left Bountiful that morning?—were still fresh in his mind. It was all a façade, of course; they had made the decision to go on and now had to live with it. It was the right one, Ever knew, but that didn't mean they would ever feel good about making it.

Ever, having nothing to do in the boat, sat in the bow and tried to avoid speculating about the fate of everyone and everything she cared about in the world.

She sighed, shading her eyes against the sunlight and turning back to look at her companions.

"That's the Sunken City ahead, isn't it?"

In the midst of Jerusalem Sound, jutting haphazardly out of the water like a set of broken teeth, were the ruins of a settlement of the Old People so luxurious that it made the crumbling foundations of the mansions that once adorned Golden Neck look small and poor in comparison.

" 'So great did their pride and avarice grow, that they built houses that walked upon the waves, in mimicry of the Savior,' " quoted Rolan, closing his journal and slipping it into the top of his pack.

"Let's hope we fare better than they did," grunted Acel over his shoulder.

Only God knew what the true name of the floating city had been; the Blessed knew it as nothing but a long-abandoned ruin. The people of Bountiful had long ago dubbed it the Sunken City, for that was what it was: a grand grouping of once-beautiful palaces that had fallen beneath the waves.

It hadn't floated, exactly: you could still see the remains of graceful pylons arching brokenly out of the water. They had once held massive leaf-shaped platforms dozens of feet above the Sound. On those platforms were built immense structures of fantastical design: leaping arches and high towers, all in beautiful shades of white and ivory and celadon and coral. All of it was shattered and drowned, now, the blade-like tips of the platforms jutting out of the water at every angle, the domes and towers no more than barnacle-encrusted hulks that breathed and swam with the changing of the tides.

"They used to move," Rolan said.

"What did?"

"The platforms. They were mechanized, somehow; built on struts anchored in the seafloor, but they could move around, change position."

"Why?" asked Ever.

"The better for the lords and ladies of the Old People to enjoy their views," said Rolan, nodding to the east, where the Marvel Sound joined Jerusalem Sound and flowed into the wide Atlantic.