Four Roads Cross (Craft Sequence #5)(132)

“Ellen, get down from there!”

“No,” she said.

“We are going home. Now.” So loud, so shrill, his voice was almost breaking. “You listen to me.”

“Stop it,” Claire said.

*

The demon that rode Umar made him blend with alley shadows and observe the Market Square, the gathered congregation of this little goddess, lending her their faith so she might perform miracles.

A girl stood on a dais before them, and the Lady of the Moon was with her. Through her ran a path to the goddess’s heart, to freedom. All he had to do was seize her, and drink.

The demon tensed Umar’s legs to run.

Then the shadows turned jade.

A thin man stood in the alley mouth. He wore a gray goat’s beard and mismatched clothes, and behind him—or in place of him, as if he cast a brilliant shadow or were himself the shadow cast by a greater form—rose an ibis head in green. The thin man’s cheeks were wet.

The mind the demon rode named the figure: “Hasim.”

“Do not speak my name,” Hasim said, “with his tongue. You debase it.”

The demon made Umar move, fast.

Hasim’s light moved faster. The ibis struck. Its beak passed through Umar’s chest, but did not pierce. It clutched the demon like a frog and drew it screaming from Umar’s body into the strange cold world where these fleshlings lived. Exposed, about to die, the demon fled—seeping through small holes in this alien world back to its own.

Umar opened his eyes. Hasim’s light stung them. They embraced, and kissed. Umar’s shoulders heaved once, a sob that strangled itself.

“It hurt,” Umar said.

“Not anymore.”

*

Claire, dependable Claire, the iron prop on which Corbin leaned, advanced upon him, full of rage. He released Matt, and sought the wall for support.

“Claire,” he said. “Ellen doesn’t know what she’s doing. We need to help her. Where’s Hannah?”

“Hannah,” Claire said, “is safe with Mr. Adorne’s family. Ellen is where she needs to be. We are not yours to order. We aren’t your kids anymore. You haven’t let us be for a long time.”

“Claire, the girls don’t know. The moon, she’s lying to you all. They need help.”

“I bought your line, Father. I helped you too damn much. I held all this together for you. I shored you up and I kept my sisters weak.”

“Claire!”

“You’re sick,” she said. “You’ve been sick a long time. You need help. You—you don’t get to order her, or Hannah, or me, anymore. This is Ellen’s place. You can’t chase her from it. If you try, I’ll stop you.”

Corbin’s mouth opened, but no sound came out.

“Matt,” she said. “Watch him. We have work to do.”

She left them, and walked to the stage, where Ellen stood in a ring of light. She took her hand, and the light healed, and the whirlpool turned.

The crowd prayed.

Corbin fell, and watched his daughters lead them.

*

—And as fast as the world skewed, it settled back. Tara sped through the goddess’s net. Those were her feet walking the moon road. She found firm footing on—what was this? More than reality. Surreality. The world above.

Whatever it was, she could walk it.

And because it was everywhere, each step brought her anywhere she wished to go—anywhere the moon answered to Seril’s name.

Wait. So I’ve been walking inside you—and you’re under attack in Alt Coulumb—so if you die there, then I— I don’t know what happens in that case. You’re me at the moment, and I’m you, so maybe you die also. Or you’re stuck out here in god-space. Craftswomen ask too many questions about the unknowable.

It’s not unknowable. Just unknown.

There came a timeless silence.

Where do I get off, Tara asked.

Wherever I want, she answered herself.

Alt Coulumb?

Coming up. But are you sure there’s nothing you’d like me to fix, long as you’re here? A little guilt to absolve? Anger or self-hatred to rub away?

She felt revulsion at herself for even considering, but she heard laughter, too, high and clear.

I was just fooling. But I’m here if you need me.

I know.

Tara turned to leave the moon road, but hesitated, one foot hovering over eternity.

Yes?

Now that you mention it, this suit needs some work.





68

Little was left of Daphne Mains.

The machine built inside her defended itself. Wheels and wards, enchantments and escarpments and demonic intelligences spun against the Blacksuits who swept through the sky, and against one of them in specific, the claw-fingered angel who tore Daphne and was torn in turn. The machine needed more power, more speed, and it burned through Daphne’s shells, recruiting shards of her annexed soul for the war effort. Dreams, nightmares, fantasies, mirror-memories, all melted for the sake of speed.

Observer-Daphne, at the bottom of her mind’s well, felt parts of her she had not known survived grind in the machine.

She thought slowly.

Slower.

Drained of color, judgment, time.

Many hands speared Blacksuits in midair. Hurt them. Trapped them. Flayed the goddess from them. One Suit dove for Madeline Ramp instead of Daphne; Ramp raised a hand. The Suit bounced off an invisible wall.