The Broken God Gareth Hanrahan (all ebook reader TXT) 📖

to her, when she told Cari to go to Khebesh? Once, Cari would have found the idea absurd – her cousin was dully honest when they were children. But Eladora’s involved in politics now, in international affairs and intrigues. Even if she wasn’t lying, it’s certainly possible that Eladora had some ulterior motive for getting Cari out of Guerdon for a long time.

But there has to be some truth in Eladora’s words, too. The fucking book is too valuable for her to just give it away.

“I’ll get the book,” mutters Cari, “you get your boat.”

“Like hell. We’ll go together. I’m not letting you out of my sight.” Myri groans as she reaches for the water. “And I’ll need to lean on you to walk, anyway.”

Myri does let Cari out of her sight, though, to sleep. The sorceress draws a warding rune on her side of the shrine first, barring Cari from entering her little alcove.

Myri’s woken by the sound of Cari slicing open waterproof sacks with a scalpel and spilling the contents across the yliaster-slick floor. Cari sorts through the junk, scooping up most of the vials of Myri’s drugs and stuffing them back into one of the sacks. Leverage.

“How?”

“Found the mule. Some kids found it. I took it back.” Cari holds up one large black box. “I found this, too. This is the thing Vorz was using, back in the lab. Some sort of aethergraph?”

“An advanced model. I hadn’t seen anything like it before. It might be useful.”

Cari grunts. The aethergraphs she saw back in Guerdon communicated through fat wires that the alchemists planted across the city like choking vines. This one works without wires, presumably transmitting messages through the invisible aether, the realm of the gods.

Another synthetic saint, sort of.

“Can they track us through this?”

“I don’t think so. Certainly not when it’s switched off.”

“Can I talk to Guerdon with this?”

“Perhaps. Vorz was able to talk to someone in Guerdon.”

Into the sack it goes. Myri paws through the other bags.

“Hey, most of the food is missing. And my money. And—”

Cari shrugs. “Had to leave the kids something.”

Bolstered by the contents of one of the vials, Myri’s able to walk the next morning. The sorceress knows the routes the Eshdana take, and they’re able to cross much of the island without being seen. Cari feels a sharp pang of guilt as they pass into the shadow of the peak – she wonders if Adro lived through the night, if Ren’s still waiting for her to return with help. To bring hope in a handful of chits.

She could have kept going, last night. Returned to the camp under cover of darkness. Maybe, maybe she could break in. Cut a few throats. Find Adro and Ren – and then what? Their chances of escaping would be minimal, and even if they made it out of the camp, they’d still be stuck on Ilbarin, hunted by the Ghierdana. It comes down to power, doesn’t it? She doesn’t have the strength to drive the Ghierdana off this island, to bring them down or to carry her friends to safety. Better to run, to hide, to conserve what she has, instead of dying beside them in a futile gesture.

By the time they reach the little cove west of Ushket, Cari’s almost convinced herself she’s doing the right thing. Can’t afford guilt, she tells herself. Have to move fast now.

“Cove” isn’t the right word – before the war, this would have been a stony cleft high up on the north-western face of the Rock. Now, the floodwaters break against cliffs that in a rational world should be hundreds of feet above sea level. Cari wonders if Myri can see the churning of the miracle that piles the waters up on Ilbarin.

Myri’s boat is a small one, drawn up on a low shelf of rock. The tide’s rising towards it – at high tide, Cari estimates she’ll be able to refloat the boat on her own, with only a little sorcerous help.

“Does she have a name?” asks Cari.

“Tymneas.”

“Who’s that?”

“A sorcerer of Khebesh. A renegade, they called him. An inspiration of mine.” Myri struggles to lift the remainder of their scanty supplies on board. “Khebeshi masters don’t usually leave the city except on matters of great importance. The outside world is considered perilous – and corrupting. They hide behind the Ghost Walls.”

Cari hurries over, grabs the sacks off Myri, hoists them on board. “I’ve heard that name before. What are the Ghost Walls?”

“A mystery only for the initiated,” mutters Myri, with a sarcastic edge. “That’s what they told me.” She lowers herself painfully on to a flattish rock, takes a sip of water, another vial of her painkilling drug. “What do you know about sorcery?”

Cari shrugs. “Chant words, wiggle fingers, shit explodes. Oh, and it fucks you up. Sorcerers I’ve known include bloody Jermas Thay himself, the treacherous bastard who killed Spar, a bunch of fuckers I knifed back home. Oh, and you. On the whole, I’ll pass.”

“So, you know nothing.” Myri snorts. “I suppose that’s to be expected.”

“Fuck you.”

“You understand what you are, don’t you?” Myri’s gaze is uncomfortably intense.

“What?”

“Back in Guerdon, I studied you. It was Heinreil who spotted you, but I helped him put the pieces together.” She smiles. “Vorz had the right idea. I would love to dissect you. Unravel you, and find out how you were created. You were made as a tool, Carillon Thay. You never needed to understand the supernatural any more than my boat needs to understand how to navigate, how winds and currents work. You were made to be used. You need guidance, not comprehension. A hand on the tiller. To act, not to know. You’ll note that all those who sought to make use of you were sorcerers.”

Eladora too, thinks Cari, a spike of doubt stabbing her in the stomach. She hides it with anger. “I honestly don’t fucking know if you’re trying to teach me or insult me.”

“I’ll try teaching. Everything exists on two planes.