Read Alight for Free Online

Aramovsky, Gaston, Spingate, O’Malley and I stand at the map’s edge.
    A glowing compass rose points out north, south, east and west. The center of the rose is a circle with the same Mictlan symbol that decorated our ties.
    Streets and avenues are laid out in a grid. The two widest streets are perpendicular. Where they would cross each other, they vanish beneath the city’s largest building—that towering pyramid I saw when I was standing atop the vine ring.
    To the northeast, a river flows into the city, so real I see the water sparkling, moving. The river ends at a tiny waterfall that drops into a wide pool.
    I notice something about the vine-covered pyramids: they are flat squares stacked one on top of another, each smaller than the layer below. They look like the ones that were carved into my birth-coffin.
    “Ziggurats,” I say. The word just pops out; I’ve remembered something from Matilda’s past. The others look at the stepped pyramids, at each other, and nod. They now remember that word, too.

    Spingate points to a glowing dot at the map’s center. “That’s our shuttle.”
    It seems so small, further emphasizing the vastness of the ruined city.
    Gaston gestures to the map’s circular edge. “That’s as far as the shuttle can see.”
    Even though it’s fairly small on the map, the tallest ziggurat—the one on top of the two intersecting roads—is detailed enough for me to make out a pillar at the very top, where the yellow vines don’t grow. Six black symbols run down its length: empty circle, circle-star, double-ring, circle-cross, half-circle and, at the bottom, the tooth-circle or “gear.”
    About two-thirds of the way up that ziggurat, on a corner, a vine-covered statue of a person faces up toward the peak. I can’t tell if it is a man or a woman. The statue must be huge.
    This building seems important.
    “Gaston,” I say, “how long would it take us to reach that tall ziggurat?”
    He leans toward it, thinks. “If you walk fast, the better part of a day, most likely.”
    O’Malley reaches out to touch the buildings near his waist, as if they are tiny things he might pick up. His hand goes right through them, kicking up a small cloud of sparkles.
    “These buildings look different from the rest,” he says.
    I see what he means. The ones near him are more broken down: partially collapsed, many with caved-in roofs and trees growing out of them. Their shapes are different—six sides, not four like most of the buildings on the map. And they are smaller, dwarfed by even the medium-sized ziggurats.
    To the northeast a bit past the waterfall, I notice a thick line that intersects the map’s circle. The six-sided buildings are all on the far side of that line.

    I point at it. “Is that a wall?”
    Gaston reaches down with both hands, grabs the air above that section, and stretches his hands apart—the map zooms in. There is less detail now, and the image looks a bit fuzzy, but it is clearly a high, thick wall.
    Aramovsky crosses his arms, frowns in thought.
    “Four-sided buildings on our side of the wall, six-sided on the other,” he says. “Why would that be?”
    No one answers.
    O’Malley takes in a sharp breath of surprise, points. “Zoom in on that!”
    Gaston does. It’s a rectangular building, big enough to hold a dozen shuttles, about halfway between us and the waterfall. The building is covered in yellow vines, like all the others, but it has a unique feature: thick, vine-draped poles rising up from the roof’s edge, as if there is an army of spear-holders down there, standing guard, weapons held high. The poles taper to a rounded tip with just the hint of a point. I almost recognize that shape.
    “Those are statues of corn,” O’Malley says. “The building is a warehouse.”
    We all look at him, doubtful.
    O’Malley’s steady calm has vanished. His eyes are bright and his smile blazes, a smile so real and beautiful it makes my breathing stop.
    “I remember