Calamity by Brandon Sanderson
Instead, her text was brief, yet chilling.
Hurry up. We decided to scout close to the city, to get a glimpse. Something’s happened.
What? I messaged back, urgent.
Kansas City. It’s gone.
I tried to think of a proper metaphor for the way the slag crunched under my feet. Like…like ice on…No.
I stepped across the wide-open landscape of melted rock that had been Kansas City. For once, words failed me. The only proper descriptor I could think of was…sorrowful.
The day before, this had been one of the points of civilization on an otherwise dark map. Yes, it had been a place dominated by Epics, but it had also been a place of life, culture, society. People. Tens, maybe hundreds of thousands of them.
All gone.
I crouched down, rubbing my fingers on the smooth ground. It was still warm, and probably would be for days. The blast had warped stone and, in an instant, turned buildings into molten mountains of steel. The ground was covered in little ridges of glass, like frozen waves, none taller than an inch. Somehow they conveyed the feeling of an incredible wind blowing from the center point of the destruction.
All those people. Gone. I sent a prayer to God, or whoever might be listening, that some of them had gotten out before the blast. Footsteps announced Megan. She was lit by the morning sun.
“We’re dying out, Megan,” I said, voice ragged. “We capitulated to the Epics, and we’re still getting exterminated. Their wars will end all life on this planet.”
She rested a hand on my shoulder as I crouched there, feeling the glass that had once been people.
“This was Obliteration?” she asked.
“This matches what he did in other cities,” I said. “And I know of no other with the powers to do this.”
“That maniac…”
“There’s something seriously wrong with that man, Megan. When he destroys a city, he considers it a mercy. He seems to think…seems to think that the way to truly rid the world of Epics is to destroy every single person who could ever become one.”
The darkness had given Obliteration a special kind of madness, a twisted version of the Reckoners’ own goal. Rid the world of Epics.
No matter what the cost.
My mobile blinked, and I ripped it off the place where it usually rested, strapped to my jacket’s shoulder.
You see this? It was Knighthawk, and he’d included an attachment. I opened it up. It was a shot of a large explosion blasting out from what I presumed to be Kansas City. The photo had been taken from far away.
People are sharing this right and left, Knighthawk sent. Aren’t you guys heading that direction?
You know exactly where we are, I texted back. You’re tracking my mobile.
I was just being polite, he sent. Get me some photos of the center of the city. Obliteration is going to be a problem.
Going to be? I sent.
Yeah, well, look at this.
The next shot was an image of a lanky man with a goatee walking through a crowded street, long trench coat fluttering behind him, sword strapped to his side. I recognized Obliteration immediately.
Kansas City? I asked. Before the blast.
Yeah, Knighthawk wrote back.
The ramifications of that sank in. I scrambled to dial Knighthawk’s number, then lifted the phone to my ear. He picked up a second later.
“He isn’t glowing,” I said, eager. “That means—”
“What are you doing?” Knighthawk demanded. “Idiot!”
He hung up.
I stared at the phone, confused, until another message came. Did I say you could call me, boy?
But…, I wrote back. You’ve been texting me all day.
Totally different, he wrote. Didgeridooing invasion of privacy, calling a person without their permission.
“Didgeridooing?” Megan asked from over my shoulder.
“Profanity filter on my mobile,” I said.
“You use a profanity filter? What is this, kindergarten?”
“Nah,” I said. “It’s hilarious. Makes people sound really stupid.”
Another text came from Knighthawk. You said that Regalia created a motivator from Obliteration. What do you want to bet she made more than one? Look at these images.
He sent another sequence that showed Obliteration in Kansas City, working on some kind of glowing object. It was bright, but you could still tell it was doing the glowing, not Obliteration himself.
Timestamp on that last one is right before the place got vaporized, Knighthawk sent. He destroyed Kansas City with a device. But why use one of those instead of doing it himself?
Stealthier, I wrote back. Him sitting in the center of town like he did in Texas, glowing until he blows the place up, is going to give a big warning that people should run.
That’s downright disgusting, Knighthawk wrote.
Can you watch for him on other mobiles?
That’s a lot of data to sift, kid, Knighthawk sent.
You have something better to do?
Yeah, maybe. I’m not one of your Reckoners.
Yes, but you *are* a human being. Please. Do what you can. If you spot him in another city, glowing or not, send me word. We can maybe warn the people.
We’ll see, he sent.
Megan regarded my phone. “I should be creeped out by how much control he has over the mobiles, shouldn’t I?”
She and I took some more pictures of the downtown. After we sent them to Knighthawk, my entire conversation with him faded from my mobile. I showed Megan, though she was distracted, looking across the seemingly endless field of glassy rock-and-steel mounds that had once been a city.
“It would have killed me,” she said softly. “Fire. A permanent end.”
“It would have killed most Epics,” I said. “Even some other High Epics.” It was one way to get past their invulnerabilities—nuke them to oblivion. A terrible solution, as some countries had discovered. You could nuke only so many of your own cities before you didn’t have anything left to protect.
Megan leaned on me as I put my hand on her shoulder. She’d climbed into a burning building to save my life, confronting what could have killed her, but that didn’t mean her fear was gone. It was merely controlled. Managed.
Together, the two of us joined the other Reckoners, who had settled near the center of the blast—which Abraham had tested for radiation, to be sure it was safe.
“We’re going to have to do something about this one, David,” Abraham said as I walked up.
“Agreed,” I said. “Saving Prof comes first though. Are we agreed on that?”
Around the group, they nodded. Abraham and Cody had been with Megan and me from the start, willing to try bringing back Prof instead of killing him. It seemed I’d persuaded Mizzy with our conversation in the car, as she nodded vigorously.
“Is anyone else here worried about why Prof went to Atlanta?” Cody asked. “I mean, he could’ve stayed in Babilar and had all sorts of Epics obeying him. Instead, he’s moved all the way out here.”
“He must have a plan,” I said.
“He has all of Regalia’s information,” Abraham said. “She knew things about Epics, their powers, and Calamity—more, I suspect, than anyone else knows. Makes me wonder what he discovered in her data.”
I nodded, thoughtful. “Regalia said that she wanted a successor. We know she was involved in things much larger than that one city. She’d been in communication with Calamity, had been trying to figure out how his powers worked. Maybe Prof’s continuing her work, whatever she was plotting before the cancer grew too bad.”
“Possible,” Mizzy said. “But what? What was she planning—or alternately, what is Prof planning?”
“I don’t know,” I said. “But I’m worried. Prof is one of the most effective, intelligent people I’ve ever met. He’s obviously not going to sit around as an Epic and merely rule a city. He’ll have grander plans; whatever he’s up to, it will be big.”
I decided the best way to distract myself from the horror of Kansas City was to try to get something productive done. So I took out one of the boxes Knighthawk had given us. Mizzy twisted around in her seat, looking back over the headrest curiously. Abraham glanced at me in the rearview mirror but said nothing, and I couldn’t read his emotions. I’d known piles of ammunition more expressive than Abraham. The guy could be like some kind of Zen monk sometimes. With a minigun.
I lifted the lid, turning the box so Mizzy could see inside. It contained a pair of gloves and a jar filled with a silver liquid.
“Mercury?” Mizzy asked.
“Yeah,” I said, taking out a glove and turning it over.
“Isn’t that stuff, like, reaaaal bad for you?”
“Not sure,” I admitted.
“It causes madness,” Abraham said. Then, after a moment, “So no big change for anyone in this particular car.”
“Hur hur,” Mizzy said.
“Mercury is quite toxic,” Abraham said. “Quickly absorbed into the skin, and can even emit vapors that are dangerous. Be careful with it, David.”
“I’ll leave the lid on until I know what I’m doing. I’ll just see if I can get the mercury to move around in the jar.”
I pulled on the glove, eager. Immediately, lines of violet light ran down the fingers to a central pool in the palm. The softly glowing purple reminded me of the tensors, which I supposed made sense. Prof had created those to imitate Epic-derived technology. He’d probably used one of Knighthawk’s designs.
“This is going to be breathtaking,” I said, imagining the things I’d read about Rtich’s powers. I held my hand over the jar of mercury, but then paused. How exactly did I engage the abilities? The spyril had been tough to control, though easy to engage in the first place. But with the tensors, it had taken time before I’d managed to make them do anything.
I tried giving mental commands, tried using the tricks I’d used to make the tensors work, yet nothing happened.
“Is it gonna take my breath now,” Mizzy asked, “or, like, sometime down the road? I’d like to be prepared.”
“I have no idea how to make these work,” I said, waving my hand and trying again.
“Are there instructions, perhaps?” Abraham asked.
“What kind of super-amazing Epic technology comes with an instruction book?” I said. That seemed too mundane. Still, I looked through the box. Nothing.
“It is for the best,” Abraham said. “We should wait to try this in a more controlled environment—or at least until we aren’t driving on a half-broken road.”
With a sigh, I took off the glove, then picked up the large jar of mercury and stared at it. The stuff was weird. I’d imagined what a liquid metal would be like, but it defied those expectations. It flowed quickly, lightly, and was incredibly reflective. Like someone had melted a mirror.
I packed the jar away at another prompting from Abraham and set the box at my feet, though I did send a text to Knighthawk asking for instructions. Not long after, however, Megan’s car slowed ahead of us. Abraham’s mobile buzzed.
“Yeah?” he said, tapping it and pressing his earpiece in tighter. “Huh. Curious. We’re stopping now.” He slowed the jeep, then glanced back at me. “Cody has spotted something ahead.”
“The city?” I asked.
“Close. Its trail. Look at two o’clock.”
I got out my gun and—unzipping the top of the jeep—stood up. From that vantage, I could see something very interesting off the roadway: a huge plain of flattened, dead weeds. It extended into the distance.
“The city definitely came this way,” Abraham said from below. “You can’t tell from here, but that’s part of a very wide strip—as wide as a city—of dead grass. Ildithia leaves that behind as it travels, like a giant slug’s trail.”
“Great,” I said, yawning. “Let’s chase it down.”
“Agreed,” Abraham said, “but look closer. Cody says he spotted people walking the trail.”
I looked again, and indeed several small groups of people trudged along the wide strip of ground. “Huh,” I said. “They’re headed away from the city. We think it’s moving northward, right?”
“Yes,” Abraham said. “This confused Cody and Megan as well. Do you want to investigate?”
“Yes,” I said, settling back into the jeep. “I’ll send the other two.”
We turned off the road and moved toward the strip of dead grass as I texted Megan. See what you two can find out from those stragglers, but don’t take any risks.
They’re refugees, she sent. What kind of risks could be involved? Scurvy?
—
Cody and Megan went on ahead, and we hung back. I tried to catch a nap, but the jeep’s seat was too uncomfortable and—even though there really was no reason to worry—I was worried for Megan.
Eventually, her text came. They *are* refugees. They know about Prof, though they call him Limelight. He’s been here for two or three weeks, and some of the other Epics are resisting him, the main one in charge—a guy named Larcener—included.
The people have fled the city because they think a confrontation between Prof and Larcener is coming, and they figure they’ll get away for a week or two—live off the land—before going back and seeing who’s ended up in control.
Did they say how far away the city is? I asked.
They’ve been walking for hours, she sent, so…maybe an hour or two by jeep? They say we’ll pass other refugees moving toward Ildithia. People from Kansas City.
So at least some of the inhabitants escaped. I was relieved to hear that.
I showed the texts to Mizzy and Abraham.
“This note about Ildithian politics is good,” Abraham said. “It means that Prof has not stabilized power in the city. He will not have the resources to watch for us.”
“Will we be able to get in?” Mizzy asked. “Without looking suspicious?”
“We can hide among the refugees from Kansas City,” I said.
“We wouldn’t even need that,” Abraham said. “Larcener allows people to enter or leave Ildithia without penalty, so there is often a trickle going in and out. We can present ourselves as hopeful workers, and they should take us right in.”
I nodded slowly, then delivered the order to continue off-road, but to give the swath of dead land a wide berth. Working cars—which had to be converted to run off power cells—were a novelty in most parts of the world. Who knew what sort of stupid bravery we could run into if we came too close to people desperate enough?
Megan and Cody rejoined us, and together we traveled across the bumpy ground for about an hour. Watching through my scope, I spotted the first signs of Ildithia: fields. They grew alongside the city, not in the patch of dead ground, but right next to it. I’d expected this; Atlanta was known for its produce.
Shortly after spotting this, I noticed something else peeking over the horizon ahead of us: a skyline incongruously rising from the center of a large, otherwise featureless landscape.
We’d found Atlanta, or Ildithia, its modern name.
The city of salt.
I sat on the hood of our jeep, which we’d parked in a little stand of trees a mile or two from Ildithia, and studied the city with my scope. Ildithia was made up of a good chunk of old Atlanta—downtown, midtown, some of the surrounding suburbs. About seven miles across, according to Abraham.
Its skyscrapers reminded me of Newcago—though admittedly, living inside the city hadn’t given me a good sense for what its skyline looked like. These buildings seemed more spaced out, and pointier. Also, they were made of salt.
When I’d heard about a city mad
The skyscrapers represented a marvelous variety of colors. Pinks and greys dominated, and my scope’s magnification let me pick out veins of white, black, and even green running through the walls. Honestly, it was beautiful.
It was also changing. We had approached from the back—this city definitely had a “back” and a “front.” The districts at its rear were slowly crumbling away, like a dirt wall in the rain. Melting, sloughing off. As I watched, the entire side of a skyscraper crumbled; then the whole thing came tumbling down with a crash I could hear even at this distance.
The salt piled in lumps as it fell, getting smaller the farther along the trail they were. That made sense; most Epic powers didn’t create objects permanently. The fallen salt buildings would eventually melt and vanish, evaporating and leaving the dead, flattened ground we’d traveled along.
As I understood it, on the other side of the city new buildings would be growing—like crystals forming, Abraham had explained. Ildithia moved, but not on legs or wheels. It moved like mold creeping across a piece of discarded toast.
“Wow,” I said, lowering my rifle. “It’s incredible.”
“Yes,” Abraham said from beside the jeep. “And a pain to live in. The whole city cycles through every week, you see. The buildings that decay back here regrow on the front side.”
“Which is cool.”
“It is a pain,” Abraham repeated. “Imagine if your home crumbled every seven days, and you had to move across the city into a new one. Still, the local Epics are no more cruel than anywhere else, and the city has some conveniences.”
“Water?” I asked. “Electricity?”
“Their water supply is collected from rain, which falls often, because of a local Epic.”
“Stormwind,” I said, nodding. “And that—”
“Doesn’t melt the salt?” Abraham interjected before I could ask. “Yes, but it does not matter much. The buildings on the back side do get weathered by the time they fall, and perhaps they leak, but it is manageable. The bigger problem is finding ways to collect water that isn’t too salty to drink.”