Lets himself fall backward.
My shout is lost in the din, the sudden clamour and the surge of the crowd as they fight to watch. I don’t hear the splash but those closest to the wall send up a savage cheer; suddenly the people around me have their fists in the air, praising Ka for his justice, praising him for showing how he responds to heretics and liars. Joyfully, vindictively celebrating my friend’s demise as his remains disintegrate in the green of the Infernis.
I shove my way to the wall. Lean over, next to several others. I have to see for myself.
There’s not much blood down there. Never is, from the dead.
I stare for a few seconds. Empty, unable to copy the smug laughter and snide remarks of those by my side, no matter that I desperately need to blend in.
My gaze drifts upward, to the bridge in the distance. Still plenty of movement in between the massive white statues that line its edges. The true heart of Duat, Ahmose once told me. I study it. With absent, shocked sickness at first, but then with increasing focus. Impossibly slim, unbreakable obsidian meaning it needs no supports across its entire miles-long length.
A young man slides in beside me, glances down at the dissipating mass, and then beams. “Glory to Ka! A Return for the ages, for him to show his power so plainly.” He slaps me on the back and then grabs my arm in an oblivious attempt to get me to join in the fervour-fuelled exulting still ongoing behind us.
I break his wrist, and slip into the crowd before anyone can react to his shocked wailing. Renewed cold determination in my step.
I’m going to kill Ka, and I have an idea how.
But first, I need a way out of Duat.
LVII
TWO MINUTES. IN THE END, THAT’S PROBABLY ALL ITtakes. Two terrifying minutes of me sprinting, stealing the Will from doors and more complex mechanisms designed to keep men out, then bursting into the crowded, nervous hubbub of the Basilica’s main entrance. A hundred Military men and women gathered in anxiously muttering small groups. Fortunately for me, mostly Magnus Septimii and Octavii, assembled for the supposed protection of the men whose blood soaks my clothes.
There were shouts and screams at my nightmarish appearance. The chasing of the few Sextii guards on duty. I have wounds along my right arm from blows that stung, but once would have taken it clean off. A mad scramble, a panicked escape down the marble stairs and into the shadows of the alley. Mere seconds ahead of my pursuers.
And then a hand grabbing me, and the sickening expansion and contraction of the journey between worlds, and the cold silence of exposed night, my panting breath hissing into clouds of steam.
I slap Ostius’s grip away as soon as I’m able. Back off and glare at him with all the poison I can muster. “What in therotting hells?”
“Keep your voice down.” Ostius’s gesture is something approaching apologetic. “I’ll explain when we’re clear. There’s a trough over there. Clean up as best you can.”
I clench my fists. The sounds of celebration here in Luceum have dwindled but not faded entirely. I have no doubt that there are people around. Sick to my stomach, moving as if in a dream, I do as he says. Strip and scrub off, shivering in the night air. Re-form my arm and armour, then replace my saturated clothing with a clean, well-fitting tunic and cloak that Ostius wordlessly offers.
When we do finally make our way out of the town, we see few people and are not stopped. Diago pads behind us, keeping mostly to the shadows. Either no one notices him this time, or no one is sober enough to remark upon his presence.
“Gods. Whoever owns that hut is going to have somequestionswhen they get home,” chuckles Ostius suddenly as the town walls recede behind us.
I don’t react. Too tired and heartsick to do more than process the words. It’s only when he starts angling farther down the hill, toward the bay, that I stop. Force my thoughts to catch up, to be present. “Where are we going?”
“Docks. It will be a short trip to Domus Telimus from there, and—”
“No.” I stop short. Shake my head. “We go back to the Forum.”
“Why?”
My chest feels as though it will burst. “My friends are there.”
He considers. Looks at me with what seems very close to sympathy. “War is coming, Vis,” he says softly. “You cannot save them all.” He turns, as if that is the end of the matter.
“No.No. I’ve done everything you asked of me tonight.” Mind working furiously now. Exhausted but I can’t stop, can’t lament what I’ve just been part of. Not yet. “But you want something else. You wouldn’t have made sure people saw me leaving, otherwise. So you’re going to give me this.”
He pauses. Thinks. His reluctant smile says I’m right. “What will you tell them?”
“That I got Relucia home but not long after that, there was shouting outside about trouble in the Military compound.” Still mentally foggy but I’m sharp enough to do the calculation. “The timing would be about right. And it will look better this way,” I add. “Much more believable than me being conveniently at home when word gets out.”
Ostius’s lip curls, but he doesn’t disagree. He changes course, heading for a nearby stream. “You think you can handle yourself? You only held that Will for a few minutes, but even I can see you’re still suffering from withdrawal.”
“I’m not intending to fight.”
