Alight_ Book Two of the Generat - Scott Sigler Page 0,17
street ends at an archway set into a massive, vine-choked wall. The wall is as tall as twenty of us standing on each other’s shoulders. Towers spot its length, each of them rising up even higher than the wall itself.
In that archway, metal doors half as high as the wall. They look like they swing outward. No vines on them, although a few dangle down from the arch above. Maybe plants can’t grip metal like they can stone.
I see a sliver of yellow between those doors. The door on our right looks slightly open. I remember Gaston’s map—that yellow must be the vine-choked ruins that lie beyond.
We’ll have to explore that gate soon, but first we have something more important to worry about.
“Let’s go,” I say. “We need to find the waterfall.”
We turn north. We follow a narrower street, moving toward the river’s roar.
—
It looked a lot smaller on the map.
The waterfall soars above us, white froth crashing down into a clear pool. The red sun is just above the waterfall’s edge—only a few hours until nightfall. Spray hangs in the air, catching the afternoon light. Brightly colored blurds dart in and out of the hanging mist.
A set of switchback steps carved into dark stone leads up the waterfall’s right side: ten steps to the right, sharp turn, ten to the left, and so on, all the way up.
Vine-draped boulders, each as tall as my chest, line the pool’s edge. A ring of smaller rocks runs along the outside of the boulders. A second ring—glistening wet from the water that splashes against them—runs along the inside. Vines cover the flat ground. Buildings and ziggurats rise up all around us. Perhaps this place was a plaza of some kind, open and welcome to this lost city’s forgotten residents.
Coyotl hops onto a boulder. His covering of caked ash is almost gone. He’s more filthy than fierce now, a dirty boy with reddish skin and taut, fluttering muscles. He looks into the pool, then raises his thighbone high and whoops.
“I’m going swimming!”
“No!” I have to shout to be heard over the water’s crash. “We don’t know if it’s safe!”
Coyotl rolls his eyes. “You think because you’re in charge you can just boss people around. Aramovsky was right about you.”
“Shut up,” Bishop says. “Farrar almost died from eating something. That water could be just as poisonous.”
Coyotl glances at the water—that commonsense thought hadn’t occurred to him. He sighs, sits down on the big rock.
I’m grateful that Bishop supports me, but my thoughts stick on what Coyotl just said. Aramovsky has been talking about me behind my back? I’m the one that got us off the Xolotl, I’m the one who got us to Omeyocan—it hurts that Coyotl would think badly of me.
Spingate tries to climb up a boulder. She’s not sure how to approach it. Bishop grabs her by the waist and lifts her like she weighs nothing at all. She squeals in delighted surprise as he sets her on top.
She’s so much prettier than I am, especially with the sun blazing off her red hair. She makes me so mad my skin prickles, a cascade of tiny needle-pokes washing down my cheeks, my neck. I wonder how pretty she’d be if I punched her in the mouth, gave her a split lip to match the one I got fighting the monsters. Selfish Spingate deserves it—she already has Gaston, and now she wants Bishop, too? My chest tightens, feels solid, like it’s made of rock. I’ll show that girl, I’ll punish her, I’ll…
I shudder. Where did all of that come from? I feel the rage spreading through me, already dissipating but still strong, still vile and repulsive. Theresa Spingate is my friend—I would never hit her. My face flushes hot with embarrassment again, but this time I’m ashamed of my own jealousy. That tightness in my chest, it relaxes, releases. My temper…it’s bad. I have to be careful.
Is that how Matilda took over the Grownups? Did her temper control her, let her control them?
Farrar climbs atop a big boulder, then drops down to the inner ring. He looks much better; the walk did him good. He helps Spingate down, his big hands on the bare skin of her narrow waist.
Does everyone want to touch her?
Stop it, Em—she’s not doing anything wrong.
Spingate kneels, gets to work examining the water.
Coyotl stands up again, the urge to jump in radiating off him.
“Don’t,” Bishop says sharply.
Coyotl sighs. “Okay, Dad.” He sits down. He looks at me. “Okay, Mom.”