The Broken Man

by Brandon Jones

  “Fine.”

  The three hostages were forced to their knees next to Saul where Josen could clearly see them. He stared in horror at three innocent people—innocent in this particular quarrel, at least—bound and staring helplessly at him.

  And it was his fault. None of them would be here, in this position, if it wasn’t for Josen’s stupid choices.

  Lady Stonelowe glowered defiantly, her knife held firmly across Akelle’s neck. Jamis looked from Josen to Saul and back, his emotions unreadable, but he held Alia tightly. Berden looked pale and nauseous, refusing to look at Josen at all, but kept his knife pressed into Roetu’s back.

  “You should have left when I gave you the chance,” said Saul. “You no longer get that option. So, here’s how this is going to work.”

  “Josen, don’t listen—”

  Akelle’s words choked, eyes wide off as Lady Stonelowe drew the knife tighter still, biting a shallow red line into his skin. “Shut up, you,” she said.

  “As I was saying,” Saul continued, “this is going to end tonight. Now. With your cooperation or without it, you will be permanently removed from my path, and the Oak Ceral Estate will become the Riveran Ceral Estate.”

  “Why would I cooperate?” Josen asked, sure he already knew the answer.

  Indeed, Saul’s only answer was a significant look toward the hostages.

  “Fine,” Josen said. “Let them go, and I’ll leave. Tonight. I’ll leave and you’ll never hear from me again. Just let them go.”

  “You’re not listening, Josen. That’s not an option anymore. You won’t leave this room alive, not if you want any of them to live,” Saul said, gesturing to the three kneeling hostages. “You have one choice to make, and only one.” Saul reached beneath his chair, withdrew a pistol, and slid it across the hardwood to Josen. “Do it yourself, right now, and I’ll let them go.” Saul nodded toward Akelle, Roetu and Alia. “All three can live.”

  “You’re insane,” Josen said, staring at the gun at his feet. It was a bluff. It had to be. Saul couldn’t seriously expect—

  “I’m pragmatic. I’m thorough. I’m determined. I’m not insane. But I am growing impatient. Don’t press me any farther, or we’ll be talking about saving two lives instead of three.”

  “Josen, don’t you dare—” Akelle’s words were cut off as Lady Stonelowe tightened her knife again.

  Josen’s mind worked furiously, desperate to grasp anything that might get him and his friends out of this alive. “If you kill them, Epalli dies,” Josen said.

  Saul’s lips twitched.

  “Let them go, or I’ll have him killed.”

  “No,” Saul said. “I don’t think you will.”

  “Tori has him,” Josen said. “At the hidden farm in Kendai. If I don’t send word, she’ll—”

  “Epalli was bloodthirsty, and nearly as rash as you,” Saul said, cutting him off. “If you went to the Kendai farm and came out alive, it is almost certainly because you managed to kill him already. Congratulations. I don’t care.”

  Josen’s shock must have showed on his face, because Saul’s smirk grew to a full grin.

  “Does that surprise you?” Saul asked. “I’ve explained it before. That’s what the little crabs are for, Josen.”

  Josen stared, dumbstruck. Behind Saul, Berden shifted uncomfortably. Jamis’ eyes hardened, but Lady Stonelowe grinned large, clearly enjoying her role in this. Josen looked from them to Saul, and a wave of disgust welled up inside him.

  “How do you stand it?” Josen asked.

  Saul’s grin melted like snow on hot sand. “I’m long out of patience for your—”

  “You’re so alone,” Josen said. “And you think it makes you stronger—”

  “Boy, I suggest you stop running your mouth—”

  “But it doesn’t.”

  “—and pick up that pistol.”

  “You only have the people who you control, people who are too afraid to tell you no.”

  “No more games,” Saul said. “Not if you want any of them to live.”

  “Shoot me yourself.”

  “Don’t be ridiculous,” Saul said. “One has people for such things. This time, that person is you. Last chance, Josen. Choose.”

  Josen stared from Saul to the gun at his feet. Outside, the fire raged, clearly visible through the great glass window to Saul’s left as it devoured the stables attached to the great stones of the house itself. Flames lapped at the stone wall of the manor but gained no purchase.

  Saul ignored the flames, watching Josen eagerly, framed on one side by the conflagration, by the captives and captors on the other.

  Akelle caught Josen’s eyes, mouthing a single word over and over. Don’t.

  Josen stooped for the gun, his body swaying as he did. He barely managed to keep himself from toppling over as his fingers closed around the cold wood. He slumped to his knees just in case. He could break the wood of the floor, send them all tumbling to the room below…

  But then what? Josen had one shot in the pistol, and a single knife he had grabbed on his way to this room. He wasn’t even sure how sharp it was. He had counted on Lady Stonelowe and her Archonites to do any violent work that needed doing. Even if Josen was fast and lucky, there was no way he could manage to kill or incapacitate Stonelowe, Berden, and Jamis before one of them killed their hostage.

  “How do I know you’ll let them go?” Josen asked, his voice barely more than a whisper.

  “You don’t,” Saul said.

  “That’s not good enough—”

  “Arietta,” Saul growled.

  “No!” Josen yelled, swinging the pistol up toward his face.

  But he was too late.

  Lady Stonelowe drew her dagger across Akelle’s throat and shoved him at Josen in the same motion. Akelle’s eyes bulged as he stumbled toward Josen, clutching his throat, blood gushing between his fingers.

  Josen dropped the pistol and caught his friend, pressed his hands over the top of Akelle’s red fingers, knowing it was futile. “No, no, no, no,” Josen said. Like he couldn’t say anything else. “No, no, no, Akelle, don’t you… Hang on—” Josen flooded his friend’s body with breaking energy, trying futilely to reknit the skin and veins in Akelle’s neck, to save his young friend, not caring that breaking didn’t work that way. To hells with the rules. Josen let ceral energy flow from him, forced it out in massive rolling waves, pushing until he felt like his skin was on fire, desperately willing the wound to close.

  But he had so little left.

  It wasn’t enough.

  Akelle couldn’t die. They hadn’t found the Vuriche. It was stupid, but he promised…

  Akelle’s mouth opened and closed, trying to speak, breath escaping in gasps, his eyes locked on Josen’s. “The desk,” he finally managed, the words airy and weak and tinged with red.

  “No! No Akelle, don’t. It’s going to be—”

  Akelle shook his head. “Her office.” He gasped and heaved. “Don’t get caught.” Akelle shuddered, and his eyes fluttered shut, his mouth relaxing into a smirk.

  Tears ran hot down Josen’s cheeks as Akelle’s life ran out between his fingers, his shallow breathing slowing, slowing…

  Josen threw head back and screamed with agony he had never known. He screamed until there was nothing left inside of him, until he was hollow and empty. He sobbed into Akelle’s bloodstained chest, feeling gutted, until a voice interrupted his anguish.

  “I told you, Josen,” Saul said. “I’m done playing—”

  Josen snatched the pistol from the floor, pointed it at Saul, hands slick with blood. The gun trembled with his shaking shoulders, the sudden movement making him sway.

  “That would be foolish,” Saul said. He didn’t even flinch. “If you pull that trigger, they die.”

  “You starving, famine-born son of a whore,” Josen snarled, not lowering the gun. “You killed him, you—”

  “Don’t act like this is anyone else’s fault—” Lady Stonelowe star
ted.

  “Don’t,” Josen said, his gaze flicking to the First Prefect for half a second before returning to Saul.

  “Arietta,” Saul said, warning in his voice, but she didn’t listen.

  “If you had stopped for one second,” she continued, “any time in the last six months to think about anyone but yourself, none of this would have happened. Your starving family would be safe, your irritating little friend would be alive, and you might—”

  The lead ball tore through the center of Lady Stonelowe’s chest before Josen even registered pulling the trigger. She gaped, then collapsed, dead before she hit the floor.

  Saul sighed. “Now you’re out of shot,” he said, annoyed.

  Berden nearly lost his grip on Roetu. He stared in horror at Saul, mouth open. Even Jamis’ stony, blank expression slipped for half a heartbeat as he turned to look at Saul, utter loathing crossing his face.

  “God’s tears, I’d hoped we could make this simple.” Saul pulled two more pistols from beneath the chair, leveling both at Josen. “But that’s my own fault, I suppose. I should have led with this. Jamis, Han, kill them both.”

  Josen surged to his feet. He lunged at Saul, rage and desperation overcoming all other rational thought. He wouldn’t let them die, not while he sat and watched, not if there was anything in his power to do for them…

  Saul shot him. The ball punched into Josen’s stomach, and he stumbled back, lost his footing in something wet and slippery and collapsed to the floor.

  “No, Josen,” Saul said. “Watch.”

  But Josen wasn’t watching. Desperate, he did the only thing he could. Josen pressed his hands to the floor, blood running down his arms, pooling around his hands, and broke the wood.

  The exertion was agony.

  The broken, rotted wood lurched outward in a wave, shooting toward Saul. Saul stumbled back, surprise and fear in his eyes for the first time as he tried to avoid falling through the broken, rotted floor.

  “You can’t—” Josen forced, each word more painful than he could have imagined. The wave of broken wood slowed as Josen’s body grasped at the power, trying desperately to remake the hole in his stomach, to staunch dangerous flow of blood and repair shredded organs. His body needed the power to keep him alive. Josen didn’t care. His life for his friends’.

  “I won’t… you can’t take them!” Jose yelled and forcibly redirected the power keeping him alive into the floor, pressing harder as Saul stumbled away from the encroaching wave of unstable floor, surrounding him and forcing him further back. Real panic played across Saul’s face as he forgot about the other pistol still in his hand. The floor dipped dangerously near Saul as more and more of the wood broke into a wet, rotted version of itself.

  And then it stopped. Saul stood, with his shoulders pressed back against a bookshelf, looked down at the floor around him where the wave of broken wood flooring stopped, and then reverted.

  Josen swayed, then nearly collapsed, his reservoir of ceral energy empty. He locked eyes with Berden, then Jamis, both of them gaping, knives poised but unmoving.

  “Interesting,” Saul said, the fear in his eyes replaced now with blazing anger. He turned his attention back to Berden and Jamis. “I said kill them.”

  Berden dropped his knife and released Roetu, who slumped to the floor. “I can’t,” Berden whispered. “I won’t.”

  Saul’s last pistol swung in Berden’s direction, a look of disgust on his face, then halted as Jamis released Alia as well, stepping between Berden and Saul. The look of disgust turned to rage.

  “No more,” Jamis said. “You’re done using us. I won’t— ”

  Saul fired into Jamis’ chest.

  Berden cried out and ran from the room as Jamis dropped to his knees, then collapsed onto his face.

  “Bleeding hands, must I do everything?” Saul said. He glanced at Roetu and Alia. Alia rolled and thrashed, trying to free herself from her ropes without success. Roetu lay motionless, eyes open but unfocussed. “What a mess. I suppose I can cut their throats after I kill you,” Saul said, reloading a pistol with calm, steady hands.

  Josen tried to push himself toward Saul, desperate to do anything, but he didn’t have the strength. His eyes fell on Jamis, blood pooling around his still body. Another person, dead because of Josen. Alia and Rotue would be next. Vale wouldn’t survive lone. All because of Josen. Tears streamed from Josen’s eyes.

  “I’m so sorry,” Josen said, voice cracking.

  “Pathetic.” Saul turned the loaded pistol on Josen. “Goodbye, Josen.”

  A sudden roar tore through the small office.

  Jamis surged to his feet, a sound of pain and rage erupting from his mouth as he crossed the empty space and crashed into Saul, driving him sideways. Saul yelled in surprise as he was lifted off the ground. The gun went off, but Jamis didn’t stop. He drove Saul through the window, both of them screaming as they plunged through the glass and into the flames below.

  Josen toppled onto his side, a wave of relief and then pain rolling over him, blotting out all else. The last thing Josen saw was a kind face hovering over the top of him, cold hands pressed to his stomach. Then a wave of agony, and darkness swept in to enfold him.

  Chapter 44

  Josen paced around the room, weak and sick and alone. He paused to gather a few things and place them in his bag. Tonight was a bad night to go out—he could feel the rain coming, feel the air growing heavy and sharp with impending rain—but he couldn’t stay, not one more night.

  Not until he made one more trip back to Ludon.

  He fingered the note in his pocket, thinking about the words there because it was less painful than thinking about other things. He moved slowly, gingerly. His body was still fragile from weeks of starvation, not to mention a pair of bullet wounds. He had spent the last several weeks in bed, mostly sleeping, sometimes waking long enough to eat some small meal left at his bedside. Sometimes the sleep was good—restful. Sometimes it was hellish. Sometimes he dreamed.

  Josen redirected his thoughts to the words on the paper in his pocket. He resisted the urge to pull the piece of paper out and read it again. He knew what it said. Reading it several dozen times hadn’t changed anything.

  He pulled it out anyway.

  Josen,

  I hate to leave like this, but I can’t stay here, not now. I hope you can understand. I have things I need to work out on my own, and I think you might too.

  I don’t blame you. I want you to know that. I hope we see each other again. Please don’t come looking for me.

  With my love, Alia.

  He sighed, then pulled his jacket from the back of a chair. He had read those starving words dozens of times, and he still didn’t know what to make of them. Maybe he didn’t want to understand them. If he understood them, then he wouldn’t need to think about them anymore, and…

  The door opened behind Josen, and he froze, caught in the act of putting his jacket on. He turned slowly to see Vale standing in the doorway, looking at him, eyebrow cocked.

  “Where do you think you’re going?” she asked, trying to be stern, not quite managing it. Her eyes betrayed too much concern.

  “Out,” Josen said. “I just need to go for a walk. Clear my head.”

  Vale nodded and didn’t argue. Josen was grateful. It had been an… eventful several weeks.

  The charges against Josen had been dropped when the conspiracy involving First Prefect Stonelowe, Reverate Han Berden, and Saul Riveran came to light. No one seemed to be entirely sure what the end goal had been. Berden was the only survivor of that fateful night, and he refused giving any details despite his excommunication from the Church and forthcoming trial.

  No one had asked Josen yet. He wasn’t sure what he would tell them if they did. Not the truth. He still couldn’t wrap his mind around the implications of his discoveries about ceral and rub and the Passes. He certainly wasn’t going to try to explain it to anyone else.

  The last few weeks had been far better
for Vale. It was in large part thanks to her that anything remained to be salvaged from the fire that tore through the Upper and Lower City. Arch Solon Shanwick had named Vale Interim Steward over Berden’s ceral estate, to be made a full Reverate Steward after Berden’s trial concluded.

  Josen was happy for her. Of all people, she deserved it.

  “I know it’s been hard,” Vale said. “I’m sorry. Can I… If there’s anything…” She trailed off, apparently tasting the inadequacy of her words even as she tried to form them.

  Josen tried to smile and failed. “Thanks.”

  Vale smiled back. The sadness in her eyes made him want to punch something, to run screaming out of the room and never come back. More than ever, Josen wanted to run away. He wanted to run and run until he couldn’t run anymore. He wanted to find a hole in the ground and hide there from everything outside, to sit in a dark room and never come out again.

  But Josen knew better than that. He couldn’t hide from life forever. And besides, where would he go? Really? What would he do? Go back to thieving? Go back to making a living on the streets of one of the Passbound Cities picking pockets and robbing mantles?

  Without Akelle?

  It was unthinkable.

  Josen’s eyes welled with unbidden tears, and he turned away from his sister.

  Josen remembered thinking, after Grandpa Markise died, that he was as lonely as a person could get. He had been wrong. Akelle was gone and Alia disappeared. Only Tori was left, but she and Josen lived in different worlds now.

  “Master Roetu is here to check on you,” Vale said after a moment. “Will you at least see him before you go?”

  Josen didn’t look at Vale, but he nodded. He heard her shuffle out of the doorway, whisper a few words to someone in the hallway, and then retreat down the stairs. Josen turned to see Roetu in her place, looking in on him from the doorway.

  “May I come in?” he asked.

  Josen didn’t say anything, but he sat in one of the chairs. Roetu took that as assent and closed the door behind him.

  This was the first time Josen had actually seen Master Roetu since waking up. He knew Roetu had been there, of course. Josen nearly always woke up with a bag of malted ceral candies on the table next to him, but Roetu seemed to always check in when the doctor knew Josen would be asleep. He was avoiding Josen. But Josen had questions.