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Chapters (80)
  1. Cover
  2. BOOKS BY DAVID HOFMEYR
  3. Dedication
  4. Epigraph
  5. Sol
  6. 1
  7. 2
  8. 3
  9. 4
  10. 5
  11. Lūna
  12. 6
  13. 7
  14. 8
  15. 9
  16. 10
  17. 11
  18. 12
  19. 13
  20. 14
  21. 15
  22. 16
  23. THE BOOK OF SEVEN
  24. 17
  25. 18
  26. Ares
  27. 19
  28. 20
  29. 21
  30. 22
  31. 23
  32. 24
  33. 25
  34. 26
  35. 27
  36. 28
  37. 29
  38. 30
  39. 31
  40. Tir
  41. 32
  42. 33
  43. 34
  44. 35
  45. 36
  46. 37
  47. 38
  48. THE SEVENTH
  49. 39
  50. 40
  51. Jöve
  52. 41
  53. 42
  54. 43
  55. 44
  56. 45
  57. 46
  58. FALLING
  59. 47
  60. 48
  61. Venetia
  62. 49
  63. 50
  64. 51
  65. 52
  66. 53
  67. 54
  68. 55
  69. Kronos
  70. 56
  71. 57
  72. 58
  73. 59
  74. Sol
  75. 60
  76. 61
  77. ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
  78. Excerpt from Stone Rider
  79. ABOUT THE AUTHOR
  80. What’s next onyour reading list?

I search for the source and find him. A tall, maudlin-looking man addresses the gathering from a wooden platform jutting out, using a loudspeaker to amplify his voice. He wears an austere black suit. His face is daubed in ceremonial white paint with black rings under his eyes. “The rage!” he shouts. “Embrace it. Breathe it in. Taste it. Ask yourself. Who am I? What am I capable of? Will I remain down here, mired in muck and blood? Or is my place in the seventh, with the living god? Salvation is at hand today. Redemption. You win, you rise. But how far will you go for immortality, for perfection? Will you bleed for it? Will you kill for it?”

Another wild cheer.

My heart thuds in my chest. My hand drops to the hilt of my sword.

“Are we ready?” the man in the black suit shouts.

The crowd goes wild in response. They begin to chant. “Fight! Fight! Fight! Fight!” They stamp down on the wooden stands until the whole place seems to throb and vibrate. And now, through it all, I feel Malik’s voice in my head.

You came after me.

He’s looking right at me. He peels his hood back. He looks fearless.

That’s more or less what happens when you follow someone, I think back to him, hoping all the noise and chaos will drown out any sign of telepathy.

Vidhan? he thinks to me. I shake my head and send him nothing in response. What is there to say? And I can tell, by his reaction, that Malik understands.

Akuji?

She betrayed us, Malik.

“We have a prize fight for you today!” the man in the suit cries. “Captured in the Northern Sea—a bona fide Pathfinder!”

A raucous cheer and some ringing boos.

“He will face none other than ten times undefeated champion of the Île de la Cité—Le Monstre!”

The crowd goes mental again, stamping, cheering.

Ana, Malik thinks to me—calm, unworried—when the noise lessens. His eyes are dark and fierce. Get my pistol. It’s in the armoury belowground.

“LET THE FIIIII­IIIII­IIIII­IGHT BEGIN!” the man in the suit roars.

52

Malik’s opponent—a head taller, at least thirty kilograms heavier, made almost entirely of thick slabs of muscle—rushes him. At the last second, Malik blurs out the way. The strongman throws out a meaty forearm and Malik ducks under it and he’s away and out of reach.

In the same second, something makes me turn and look up into the crowd, up to the platform. And here I see someone who makes my stomach churn. He’s standing next to two guards and he’s pointing at me with his long staff.

Rodolfo Graziani. Vidhan’s murderer.