Nineteen years ago, the gate opened for the first time.

A narrow ribbon of light appeared in the center of the Cauldron, rising out of that ancient human artifact and extending all the way up to the stars. The avians, the redenites, and all the people living in the Cauldron believed the gods had finally returned.

Instead, the Cyran Empire poured into the city. The imperials, with their gunpowder weapons and their military discipline, had come to conquer their world. The Cauldron was unprepared for war.

They rolled effortlessly through the higher tiers of the city. Any Midcity militia or vocal naysayers were shot on sight. The nobles who refused to recognize the Everlord’s eternal sovereignty were publicly beheaded. The priest castes were quick to accept their new cyran masters and urged the faithful to do the same.

But when they came to Lowtown, it was the imperials who were unprepared. The narrow alleys, the high roosts and leaning stackhouses. Tenement blocks with collapsing roofs, slum gardens filled with ancient refuse, boroughs and nesting houses and vinehedges so overgrown it was nearly impossible to enter the deeper courts on foot, let alone conquer them.

Several ambushes deep, the imperials found not only that their advanced weaponry—fast-loading firearms and long-range rifles—were useless in the narrow alleyways but that the more soldiers they sent, the better equipped the avian rebels became.

The imperials finally brought their airships through the gate. Eight Fangs, black, wingless war machines that could hang impossibly in the air. Their hulls—twin cones curved around a spherical fuselage like a vicious claw trying to crack a black pearl—were made of that unparalleled human metal. No weapon could touch them.

And with the blistering light that sprang forth from their fanged tips, it took the imperials less than an hour to set the whole of Lowtown on fire.

But the resistance refused to let go. They limped along for three years until the Coward Queen rooted out the rebellious leaders and signed her people over to the Empire.

It was not possible, Eolh had learned, to defeat the imperials. Their resources were near limitless. They had old tech like nothing Eolh had ever seen. And most of all, they viewed war as a kind of transaction. Kill one of them, and they would kill ten of you.

After the war died, the imperials kept their prisoners alive and healthy—at great expense to the Cyran Empire. Sometimes, they were shoved from the tops of the towers with their wings bound. Other prisoners were chain-ganged, made to tear down the old crosses along the Lowroad and build new ones. And crucified on them.

How many begged for death? How many nights had Eolh sat on the half-ruined rooftops of Lowtown listening to their cries echo down the Cauldron slope? Each morning, when the sun rose over the Cauldron walls, they could be seen hanging. Wings outstretched, feathers molting. Not dead, but not moving.

Some said the Magistrate saw personally to these executions. Some said he liked to drag avians to the top of a tower, one of the seven impossible relics left by the humans that still stood proud over the Cauldron. There, he would bind their wings and personally shove them over the edge.

So when Eolh saw the imperial Fang floating above the city, those two black tusks against the dusk-ridden sky, his stomach clenched with old fear. These days, the imperials only brought out the Fangs for ceremonial purposes—on days when the gate opened.

And it was still the middle of Harvest.

Most of Lowtown would keep their heads down. Lock their doors, close the windows, hide everything precious to them as deep underground as they possibly could.

And here he was, sitting in an empty alley with an android and a living human.

“Change of plans,” Eolh said. “This place is crawling. We need to hide first. Get to my healer later.”

“No,” the construct clicked. “His medical need is immediate.”

“What’s more important, your life or his?”

The android answered without hesitation, “His.”

Eolh clicked his beak in frustration. He didn’t owe this android anything. The only thing that mattered was that he got paid, and then he could melt away into the night. The sooner, the better.

“Fine. But we can’t take the Lowroad.” Eolh looked her body up and down. She was shorter than Eolh by a few inches, but with that shapeless linen robe, he could only guess what her chassis looked like. “How much do you weigh?”

“Four hundred forty-five,” she said. Again, no hesitation.

Eolh whistled. Heavy, he thought. But some cranes were made to carry far more than that.

“Can you carry it a while longer?” Eolh nodded at the human, if that’s what it really was. How could anyone know for sure? Nobody had ever seen one alive. All the statues made them look huge, and this one was barely the size of a fledgling avian.

The joints in the android’s neck whispered as she lifted her chin. A proud show of defiance. “I will carry him until my limbs fall from my body and my core has gone dark.”

The human was a bundle of limbs in her arms, drowning in that makeshift cloak. He was small even by Gaiam’s standards. Maybe five feet, maybe less. The android seemed to carry it easily enough.

It hadn’t made a sound since they’d been standing here. I wonder if he can talk. Some species on Gaiam communicated only through silent means. Body signals, or scent language, or crude grunts and barks. He couldn’t remember what the priests said about the humans; it had been so long since he’d gone to a temple. His face was so smooth. No feather nor fur, except for the tight curls on the top of his skull.

The android squeezed the human to her chest. “He fades. If you want your payment, let us be on our way.”

Eolh shrugged. They started off through the back alleys, toward the sheer cliffs of the Midcity. They passed shuttered windows, dark doorways, and walls covered in dead vines. Eolh could hear patrols of imperials stomping through the alleys in their regimental boots. Making their sweeps.

A patrol of soldiers blocked one alley, their brass helmets gleaming. But their backs were turned, so Eolh and the android hid in the nook of a stone doorway and watched. An officer was shouting orders, and Eolh could hear the grunting, squeaking speech of a lone redenite caught in the street. The officer lifted his arm, and a crack of thunder erupted from his pistol.

Eolh held back the sickness rising in the back of his throat. He tapped the android’s shoulder and motioned that they should run back the other way. The squealing of that poor, dying redenite echoed after them.

The Cauldron was divided into three tiers, like the steps of some gargantuan staircase. Lowtown was on the bottom, and all the rainwater and filth that ran off the Midcity cliff collected down there before being swallowed by the gutters and sewer ways that drained into gods knew where.

The Midcity cliff towered over Lowtown, and other than the Lowroad, only a few hand-carved stairways zigzagged up the cliff. Too steep, and too long of a climb. Better to take the cranes.

Hundreds of lifts dotted the Midcity cliff, some small enough to be powered by clever hand cranks. Others were meant for serious cargo, and on any other night, crane operators would stand around, barking their prices at passersby.

But tonight, it was empty. The ragged edge of the cliff loomed above the alleyways and the clay roofs, a giant curtain of jagged stone. The ramshackle stackhouses crowded away from the cliffs because nobody wanted to live in that shadow. If something fell from above . . .

Eolh’s talons clicked on the cobbles, and the android’s footsteps clanked softly behind. They had passed dozens of elevators already, mostly broad wooden platforms with sturdy railings attached to wrought-iron cranes far above. He was looking for something small, something that wouldn’t attract attention, but many of those were frayed. When he grabbed at the ropes, he found the fibers too soft and rotted for his liking, or the cranks were disused and locked up when he tried to turn them.

They finally found one hidden in a crook in the cliff: a simple thatched basket that could fit the three of them if they pressed close together. Three ropes ascended up the cliff, and a simple hand crank connected them to the basket.

Rust covered the hand crank, and part of the basket looked like it had been sitting in a puddle for too long. Any other night, he would have turned his beak up at this crane, but a warbling cry caught his ear. Two more Fangs joined the first, and the trio hung suspended over the rooftops, their tusks angled down toward the city.

Eolh saw lights at the top of the northeastern tower. Spotlights, sliding over the rooftops.

Then, they began to move as one, strafing over Lowtown. Whatever was about to happen . . . had already begun.

Eolh tested the crank, grinding it against the rust that had built up in its gears. It was stuck.

“Help me with this,” Eolh said.

The android refused to put down the human, but she shifted him over her shoulder and tugged on the crank with her free hand. Her body was like the heavy armor that the falkyr warriors used to wear at the godful ceremonies. Before the Magistrate came. Even her legs were protected by smoothly interlocking plates of metal that almost moved like muscles exposed to the air. He had never seen a construct whose parts looked like that.

Eolh held the ropes in place while she pulled, and the metal screeched painfully. There was a dry crack, and then the crank started to turn easily, though it still scraped at every revolution.

This was how they made their ascent: the android pulling the crank, Eolh balancing against the basket handles with the cliff wall so close he could reach out and touch those slick, jagged rocks.

And despite the hot, humid warmth of the Cauldron, the human was shivering so hard Eolh thought he could hear its bones rattling.

The android was fixated on her task. And Eolh thought about it. He could swipe his knife across her spinal wiring, just like he used to do on the imperials’ war constructs. But what if she’d been built differently? What if her parts were different?

And now that he was this close to her, he couldn’t even see her wiring through all that shifting, sculpted metal. So many moving pieces, and not a single joint exposed. Old tech. Built by the gods themselves, so they said. Parts of her metal almost seemed to bend as she moved.

Eolh turned his gaze from the android to the shivering human. “You might want to put him down.”

“Why?”

“The wind is only going to get stronger the higher we go. The basket will keep him from the worst.”

She nodded, her glowing eyes bobbing in the darkness.

Eolh held the crank while she laid him gently at their feet and carefully tucked the rags over the human. What a small, slender thing for a god. Perhaps it was a fledgling. Or perhaps they were all that small. Nobody had ever seen a human before, except for the statues.

“Where are you taking us?” the android asked.

“There’s a doctor. He lives at the bottom of the leaning tower because nobody else will.” Eolh pointed behind the android, and she turned her head to follow his finger.

At the top of the cliff stood one of the massive, ancient towers that watched over the city. A column of that strange human-made metal, it leaned heavily over Lowtown, and the cliff bulged dangerously at its base.

“Don’t worry. It’s been like that for centuries.”

“You were born here?”

“I was. Back when it was still our city.” Eolh looked over the edge of the basket. Soldiers, imperials, and local guards, all lined up on the main roads. It looked like they were getting ready to sweep Lowtown.

“Do you miss it?”

Eolh stared at her. Constructs didn’t ask questions, except to clarify their orders.

“What kind of android are you?” he asked.

“I am called Laykis of Tython,” the android said. “What are you called?”

“You want my name?”

“Bird-thing, if we are to travel together, I must call you something.”

Eolh shook his head. “I’m getting you to the Doctor, and then you pay up. You don’t need my name.”

“Then I shall call you ‘bird-thing.’”

“I am not a bird. I am corvani.”

“Then I will call you ‘corvani.’” The android bowed her head as if he were one of the royal caste. “It is good to know you. I am in your debt.”

Yes, he thought. You certainly are.

They were halfway up the cliff when the hot winds started to push their basket around, knocking it against the cliff wall. Eolh used his hand to steady them as best he could, but the whole basket was shaking.

It was the human. Those bones in its mouth were chattering, and even with the cloak wrapped around its body, it was shivering like mad.

“What’s wrong with it?” Eolh asked.

“It is a ‘him,’ and . . .” The android shook her head grimly. “I don’t know.”

Eolh bent down to inspect the human, peeling the cloak away from its face. Blood stuck to the fabric. Everyone had seen the statues of the gods, up in the Midcity or lining the mother ridge, but they were carved of stone and marble. Even the metal statue that stood guard in front of the gate seemed lifeless.

His skin was so dark, almost as black as Eolh’s feathers, which made his mouth—full of bone-white teeth—almost glow in the dark. Though the human’s eyes were closed, Eolh could see them moving wildly underneath those lids. At least he’s quiet.

Eolh nudged him. The android, Laykis, tensed when he touched the human, but she did not tell him to stop.

His skin is soft. So vulnerable. Somehow, he expected the human to be firmer. Like marble or metal. But he was flesh and blood.

Eolh prodded the human’s cheek again. “Hey. Are you awake?”

The eyes shot open. They were glowing as bright as blue flame. The human’s mouth stretched wide, and a piercing scream echoed down the cliffs.

Eolh jumped back, making the basket bump and ride against the cliff. Laykis stopped cranking and bent down to touch the human to silence him, to keep him from screaming. But the human was writhing and thrashing and twisting in his makeshift cloak, and the whole basket was starting to tip.

“Help me!” Laykis said. She couldn’t leave the crank lest they plummet back to the ground.

“How do you shut this thing up?” Eolh said, not daring to touch his writhing form.

“Do something!”

Eolh knelt over the human and pinned him by the shoulders. “Stop it! Relax, gods damn you!”

The human’s eyes were like twin suns blazing with blue-white light. But his eyes were not the only lights in the city.

The leaning tower was ablaze with that same light, a kind of naked energy spiraling over the stonework like electrified serpents wrapped around the trunk of a tree.

And all over the city, a strange blue-white light began to glow. There was a rumbling sound like a distant avalanche beginning to flow. If Eolh had been on the ground, he might’ve felt the vibrations of ancient life in his talons.

The human thrashed again, making awful choking sounds in the back of his throat. Eolh grabbed the linen sheet, tightening it around the human as he cooed:

“Take it easy. You’re safe now. Go back to sleep.”

For a blind moment, the fledgling human seemed to hear him. Then, he gasped and threw his head back, and his eyes rolled up into his skull. His body was a sudden limp weight in all that linen.

The lights writhing up the leaning tower reversed their flow, disappearing back down below the ground. Suddenly, the whole city felt empty and dark.

“What the hells was that?”

“The human,” Laykis said simply.