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Back Four Roads Cross Save as PDF
Chapters (75)
  1. Title Page
  2. Copyright Notice
  3. 1
  4. 2
  5. 3
  6. 4
  7. 5
  8. 6
  9. 7
  10. 8
  11. 9
  12. 10
  13. 11
  14. 12
  15. 13
  16. 14
  17. 15
  18. 16
  19. 17
  20. 18
  21. 19
  22. 20
  23. 21
  24. 22
  25. 23
  26. 24
  27. 25
  28. 26
  29. 27
  30. 28
  31. 29
  32. 30
  33. 31
  34. 32
  35. 33
  36. 34
  37. 35
  38. 36
  39. 37
  40. 38
  41. 39
  42. 40
  43. 41
  44. 42
  45. 43
  46. 44
  47. 45
  48. 46
  49. 47
  50. 48
  51. 49
  52. 50
  53. 51
  54. 52
  55. 53
  56. 54
  57. 55
  58. 56
  59. 57
  60. 58
  61. 59
  62. 60
  63. 61
  64. 62
  65. 63
  66. 64
  67. 65
  68. 66
  69. 67
  70. 68
  71. 69
  72. Acknowledgments
  73. Also by Max Gladstone
  74. About the Author
  75. Newsletter Sign-up

She patted him on the back. Her hand made a hollow sound against his ribs. She squeezed and tried to remember the last time she’d touched someone or been touched, not for instrumental purpose, but for the sake of touching. She had been too busy to notice the lack. “Thanks,” felt lame by comparison.

“Come back to us,” he said when he stepped away.

“I will,” she said. “Make sure there’s something for me to come back to, okay?”

“I promise.”

The thorn statue glanced over its spiny shoulder; Tara thought she heard it clear its throat.

“Take care,” she said, and saluted him, and retreated to the business-class gantry. The ticket taker met her with a smile full of knives. At the foot of the gantry, Tara looked back. Abelard waited, watching.

She waved, and so did he, before she entered the crystal tunnel.

45

45

What grim beast lay on Alt Coulumb’s back that night?

Ellen cross-legged on her rooftop watched a filling moon, and hummed, and rocked to her heart’s beat.

In a hospital room, Dr. Hasim rose from rough, overstarched sheets. His long fingers explored the cables and straps at his wrists and arms, unbinding each in turn. A puzzled smile pulled the wounds on his lips; his tongue traced stinging sores inside his mouth where demon legs had cut. He framed his mind in prayer. Hospital bonds fell from him. He walked between beds, consulting charts and confirming diagnoses. (Divinity grows from mortal souls; a doctor of gods need not be a doctor of the flesh as well, but it doesn’t hurt.) All asleep: young Tariq in deep dreams, wrapped around and through the Lady he bore with him from the sands. Large-bellied and fierce Akhil held his waymaking master/mistress to his heart. A goddess fragment walked the labyrinth of the girl Aiya’s dreaming face.

When the door opened behind him, Dr. Hasim turned to the orderly. “Please take me to the roof, and fetch me paper, pen, and ink.” Bare-assed in a hospital gown, Dr. Hasim commanded, and the orderly obeyed.

Elsewhere in the same building, Corbin Rafferty curled like a pill bug in his delirium. In the once empty bed beside him another man lay, massive and still, and there were no scars on his mouth.

Atop a tower in the Ash, beneath the jagged remnant arches of a never-quite orrery, Gavriel Jones sharpened a pencil with her pocketknife. Aev watched her work. “How do you see yourself?” the gargoyle asked.

“I don’t know what you mean.”

“My brothers and sisters are protectors, scouts, warriors. My youngest, who has gone with Ms. Abernathy to her war, thinks he is a rebel. What are you?”

“I find stories that are true,” Jones said. “And I tell them.”

“A poet, then.”

She did not know how to answer that, but a laugh did not seem wrong.