holding back the Hetch Hetchy Reservoir. Perched on a granite ledge above one end of the span, Gabriel felt the thundering power of the water in his belly. It blasted from the damâs eleven jet-flows, some into the Tuolumne River, but most of it diverted into an aqueduct that filled toilets and water glasses over 180 miles away in San Francisco.
In the early light, the water glinted with iridescent blues and pinks. The spire of Kolana Rock and the 2,400-foot Hetch Hetchy Dome stood as monumental grave markers for the valley that had been here millions of years before the construction of the dam. Submerged beneath the reservoir were what John Muir called the ârarest and most precious mountain temples,â a place where eagles had soared, where bobcats and bears hid from the shrieks of wyvern echoing through the valley. Water killed worlds.
Max inhaled sharply and squinted, his head darting back and forth like a pigeonâs until he fixed on something. âProblem,â he said. âSmells predatory.â
They huddled behind a fallen pine tree and waited until a large, gray dog came into view, climbing the cliff face toward them. Deep-bellied and lean, the dog passed its gigantic nostrils over the ground, vacuuming up air and scents. It was a garm hound, the kind of dog Max was osteomantically altered to emulate. In the Southern Kingdom, they were used to sniff out contraband magic. Here in the North, for all Gabriel knew, they were trained to kill anyone who possessed it.
âMax?â Gabriel said, and Max unholstered his gun.
âNo,â Cassandra said. âI got this.â
She unpacked a pair of tubes and screwed them together, forming a blowgun. Max returned his gun to its holster and seemed relieved.
With a puff of air, she sent a dart flying into the garmâs neck. It let out one sharp whine and climbed a few more feet, but then its rear legs got wobbly, and it lay down on its belly, its big head resting on its front paws. Gabriel couldnât tell from this distance if it was still breathing.
âDead?â he asked.
âSleeping,â Cassandra said. She turned to Max. âI hope thatâs okay with you.â
âI canât object to sparing the life of a hound.â
Max never smiled, but he came about as close to it as he ever did, and Cassandra returned his non-smile with half a grin. Something passed between themâan understanding, or an appreciation. Gabriel should have been happy about it, but for some reason it made him feel uneasy.
âClear now?â Cassandra asked Max.
He grunted, and Cassandra took the lead down the cliff face to the valley floor.
Despite Gabrielâs osteomantically treated boot treads, the terrain was crumbly and treacherous, and after his third slip, it occurred to him that he could simply bring down the dam and create a cataclysmic flood that would rip sequoias from the ground, push over buildings and send them smashing into bridges, deliver a cargo of cars and bloated livestock carcasses and human corpses hundreds of miles below to San Francisco, and Gabriel could arrive behind the flood, like a general walking through the gates of a conquered city.
But he didnât want to be that kind of water mage, so he continued to slip and struggle down the cliff side.
Eventually they made it to the canyon power tunnel, a conduit that conducted water ten and a half miles to a power station downriver.
Kneeling in the crawlway maintenance shaft above the tunnel, Cassandra worked the bolts of an access hatch. Meanwhile, Gabriel assembled a maze of copper pipes, each barely wider than a drinking straw. Using the wrench heâd found among his predecessorâs tools, an object heâd named the Wrench of All Purpose, he tightened fittings: S-curves and U-curves and corkscrews, funnels that concentrated water flow to laser-fine jets inside copper skin. Max crouched beside him, impatient, searching out
In the early light, the water glinted with iridescent blues and pinks. The spire of Kolana Rock and the 2,400-foot Hetch Hetchy Dome stood as monumental grave markers for the valley that had been here millions of years before the construction of the dam. Submerged beneath the reservoir were what John Muir called the ârarest and most precious mountain temples,â a place where eagles had soared, where bobcats and bears hid from the shrieks of wyvern echoing through the valley. Water killed worlds.
Max inhaled sharply and squinted, his head darting back and forth like a pigeonâs until he fixed on something. âProblem,â he said. âSmells predatory.â
They huddled behind a fallen pine tree and waited until a large, gray dog came into view, climbing the cliff face toward them. Deep-bellied and lean, the dog passed its gigantic nostrils over the ground, vacuuming up air and scents. It was a garm hound, the kind of dog Max was osteomantically altered to emulate. In the Southern Kingdom, they were used to sniff out contraband magic. Here in the North, for all Gabriel knew, they were trained to kill anyone who possessed it.
âMax?â Gabriel said, and Max unholstered his gun.
âNo,â Cassandra said. âI got this.â
She unpacked a pair of tubes and screwed them together, forming a blowgun. Max returned his gun to its holster and seemed relieved.
With a puff of air, she sent a dart flying into the garmâs neck. It let out one sharp whine and climbed a few more feet, but then its rear legs got wobbly, and it lay down on its belly, its big head resting on its front paws. Gabriel couldnât tell from this distance if it was still breathing.
âDead?â he asked.
âSleeping,â Cassandra said. She turned to Max. âI hope thatâs okay with you.â
âI canât object to sparing the life of a hound.â
Max never smiled, but he came about as close to it as he ever did, and Cassandra returned his non-smile with half a grin. Something passed between themâan understanding, or an appreciation. Gabriel should have been happy about it, but for some reason it made him feel uneasy.
âClear now?â Cassandra asked Max.
He grunted, and Cassandra took the lead down the cliff face to the valley floor.
Despite Gabrielâs osteomantically treated boot treads, the terrain was crumbly and treacherous, and after his third slip, it occurred to him that he could simply bring down the dam and create a cataclysmic flood that would rip sequoias from the ground, push over buildings and send them smashing into bridges, deliver a cargo of cars and bloated livestock carcasses and human corpses hundreds of miles below to San Francisco, and Gabriel could arrive behind the flood, like a general walking through the gates of a conquered city.
But he didnât want to be that kind of water mage, so he continued to slip and struggle down the cliff side.
Eventually they made it to the canyon power tunnel, a conduit that conducted water ten and a half miles to a power station downriver.
Kneeling in the crawlway maintenance shaft above the tunnel, Cassandra worked the bolts of an access hatch. Meanwhile, Gabriel assembled a maze of copper pipes, each barely wider than a drinking straw. Using the wrench heâd found among his predecessorâs tools, an object heâd named the Wrench of All Purpose, he tightened fittings: S-curves and U-curves and corkscrews, funnels that concentrated water flow to laser-fine jets inside copper skin. Max crouched beside him, impatient, searching out
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