Page 86 of City of Stone and Silence

“You’re welcome to try,” Garo says, loud enough for the crowd to hear. “There are a few people who might object.”

A wave of jeers washes over the Immortal. She shrugs. “Rabble.”

“Then why wait?” Garo leans forward. “Let me make you an offer. Take your men and get out of here. Leave everything—all your prisoners—and we’ll give you safe passage.”

I almost reach out to the woman with Kindre, then hesitate. Back at the sanctuary, the Immortals had someone who could block my power, and I don’t know if that extends to detecting it as well.

“I have an offer for you,” the woman says, raising her voice to a grating shout. “All of you. Disperse and return to your homes. When order is restored—and it will be restored—only ringleaders will be arrested.”

And then I feel it. Power like mine, licking out over the crowd in a wave of noxious fear. Someone in the line of black-armored figures is a Kindre user.

The Immortal officer cocks her head, waiting for the mob to come apart in terror. I reach out, operating by instinct, and throw my own will against the other mage-born. There’s a moment of conflict, but while the Immortal’s emotional push is elegantly crafted, I have more raw strength to draw on. The fear evaporates, shredding into fragments.

“I really suggest you take our offer,” I say out loud.

The officer turns to regard me, and something in her stance registers surprise.

“It’s you,” she says. “The sister—”

What? I take a half step forward, just as everything goes to pieces.

“Down with the Immortals!” A stone, about the size of an apple, flies over the first row of the crowd and, more by luck than aim, slams into the officer’s shoulder. “Down with the draft!” The chant is picked up again, louder and louder, and more objects start to rain over our heads.

The Immortal officer closes her fists, and blue bands of force reach out for people in the crowd, lifting them effortlessly into the air. A young boy screams and clutches at the Tartak power that binds his wrist. An older man unwisely urges his companions to hold him down, and a half-dozen people try; a moment later his arm breaks with a crunch, and he’s screaming too. Another Immortal steps forward, flames leaping around him in what’s intended to be an intimidating display. It doesn’t work—a middle-aged woman pushes through the front rank of the crowd and swings a long-handled shovel into his stomach, hard enough to double him over.

“Wait—” Garo tries to say.

“Down with the Immortals!”

The crowd rushes forward.

They roll over the Immortal officer and her two companions and charge the Ward Guard, running straight at the wall of spears. The points waver in the face of this onslaught, but the soldiers don’t even have time to break and run before the mob is on them. Men and women grab the weapons and tear them away, heedless of the steel points, ignoring cuts and blows. Some of the guards draw their swords, but only a few have a chance to use them before they’re overwhelmed. The mob bludgeons them to the ground with whatever weapons are handy, with their bare hands, and crushes them under a thousand feet.

It’s not natural, this rage. I watch the guard sergeant laid on her back, her screaming inaudible in the din, as two girls my age take turns smashing her head with rocks. I watch a man with a spear wound in his belly throw himself on a guard, bearing the soldier to the ground even as coils of intestine flop free. Garo and I stand among the small group of sanctuary mage-born, and the mob passes around us like a river splitting around a stone.

I did this. Like with Nouya. I suppressed their fear, and gave them anger—

The mob closes on the line of Immortals, and I squeeze my eyes shut. Even still, I can hear the roar of flames.

16

ISOKA

At the top of the stairway, the other monks turn back, leaving Meroe and I alone with Gragant. The blue tinge has faded from his skin, leaving him looking only a fraction paler than normal. I’m still fighting the occasional shiver, and Meroe stays close by my side, as though afraid I’m going to run off again.

“You’re certain you’re ready for this?” Gragant says to me.

I shrug. “Since I have no idea what’s going to happen, there doesn’t seem to be much point in waiting.”

“Fair enough.” He takes the lead, and we start down a winding circular stair, descending into the very center of the ziggurat. Gragant carries a lantern, which throws our shadows, huge and shifting, against the walls.

“I wanted to thank you,” Meroe says.

“For what?” Gragant asks, not turning around.

“You didn’t have to accept that Isoka had passed the trial.” Meroe glances at me. “I heard what your people were saying. You could have declared her forfeit, and they would have backed you.”

“My people might have,” Gragant says. “The Divine Being would not.” That hangs in the air for a half turn of the stairs. Then he goes on, in a softer tone. “I must admit that I am not devoid of personal feelings on the matter.”