Four Roads Cross by Max Gladstone Page A

the danger until it was too late.” She waited, and listened to gears.
    â€œWhat happened?” he asked after a while. His voice sounded flat and small.
    â€œShe broke. Wrung out from the inside. They sent her home comatose. The shock freed me. I destroyed Denovo’s lab in revenge, and got myself graduated with extreme prejudice, and Ms. K found me, and you know the rest.” She envied the priests their smoke, sometimes. Cigarettes gave you something to do with your heart: you concentrated everything you should be feeling to an ember and let it burn. “Nobody in your church had anything to gain by doubting the official story about Seril. That’s all Gustave needed. That’s why you’re important, why you should be at that table, asking questions Nestor and Bede are too hidebound to ask.”
    He wasn’t looking at her.
    â€œDammit,” she said, “I’m trying to help,” and realized when he froze that she’d let too much anger out. “Sorry. It’s not like I have some immense fund of experience and wisdom to draw on. I lived on the road longer than I’ve been a professional Craftswoman. You think the Cardinals distrust you, gods, would you like to borrow my skin for a while? I’m a Craftswoman, and I’m young, and I’ve ironed the accent out of my voice but they still know I come from yokel country. I can do things they can’t, and that’s all I have over them: their crazy atavistic fear of people who can raise the dead and carve their names into the moon. So they listen to me. But I need help. I can’t do this alone.”
    The words burst from her like rust water from a tap, rough and fast and without warning. They left a bitter taste in her mouth.
    Abelard whispered something she couldn’t hear over the noise of the boiler room and her own heartbeat.
    â€œWhat?”
    â€œI’m sorry. I hadn’t thought. This is hard for you, and you’re a long way from home.”
    â€œThat’s not what you said.”
    He stared at the tip of his cigarette. Then he turned to her. The darkness made his face a mask, and she remembered those mosaic saints twisted by the tortures that earned their place in heaven. “I said, I don’t think I trust God anymore.”
    She waited.
    â€œI carried Him inside me for three days and didn’t notice, even when He worked miracles through me.”
    â€œKos hid himself. And he was only half-conscious, or less, the whole time. Mostly dead, and scared for the shreds of life that remained to him.”
    â€œDid He have so little faith as to doubt He could turn to me in His need? Did He fear I would refuse Him? Gustave fell from pride—he did not hear the Lord’s will. Did Kos doubt my faith?”
    â€œNo.”
    â€œYou don’t know that.”
    â€œAsk him, then. He’s your god.”
    â€œWould He tell me the truth?” Abelard raised his hand, and flames surrounded it. Tara flinched from the sudden light and heat.
    â€œHow long have you been able to do that?”
    Abelard waved away the fire. “He’s given me gifts. I don’t know if the truth is one of them.”
    â€œTrust him,” she said. “He’s not that bad, as gods go. And he needs your help. So do I.”
    â€œWhen you came to Alt Coulumb, I had years of novitiate left, decades to grow in faith before anyone asked me to make big decisions.”
    â€œAnd by all rights I should be a junior associate somewhere, making bank, not sleeping, paying down my student loans, following orders like a golem all day. That’s not how it worked out. I don’t mind, except when I look at my account balance. But we’re here together. We can do this.”
    â€œMaybe.”
    â€œAbelard, you did the right thing under pressure. You will again.”
    â€œI wish I had your confidence.”
    â€œI wish I had your student loans.”
    â€œI don’t have