Read Online The Severed Tower by J. Barton Mitchell - Free Book Online
Authors: J. Barton Mitchell
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probabilities. Not much else. I see risk, but only enough to factor it into how I act. I don’t feel it.” He gently stroked her cheek with his fingers. “It’s one of the reasons I need you. You’re my … emotional side, Mira. You keep the other parts in check, you balance them. I know now, that’s why the Librarian decided what he did, why he made it so we could only go into the Strange Lands together.”
She was so accustomed to Ben’s touch, she almost didn’t notice it. In spite of everything, a part of her liked being close to him. It was familiar and comfortable. And that was something she hadn’t felt in awhile.
“Once we get to Polestar, you’ll come with me,” he continued. “To the Tower. Like we always talked about. You and I against the Core. We can beat it, Mira. I know it.”
He was right. They were a great team; they always had been. The Librarian had seen that. And she would be lying if she said she didn’t want to go with him, that the idea of casting off her burdens and promises wasn’t very attractive.
Why were things never simple?
5. LINES
HOLT SAT ON TOP of the thick wing of a ruined C-17 Globemaster, staring at the Crossroads around him as it emptied out, its residents all circling the drain of an uncertain future. As he did, he threw a handful of rocks, one at a time, at the back of an old air tanker, absently listening to the dull sound each made as it dented the rusted metal.
Zoey was asleep in the plane under him, Max lying next to her. The plane had been retrofitted into a visitors dorm, with three or four sleeping areas. Echo had stayed only long enough to point them to the beds, before he got pulled away into some new conflict. When Zoey fell asleep, Holt climbed up through an opening onto the roof.
The Crossroads was one of the more unique places he’d been, but it was still familiar. In a way, it was like every other place in the world now. Built on the crumbling remains of the World Before. Nothing was ever new anymore, everything was just repurposed. In its own way, it was inspiring … and sad.
Southlift had been rising and falling steadily. Full going up, empty coming down. If he turned around, he could just barely see Northlift at the opposite end of the quarry, over the tops of hundreds of rusting, forgotten aircraft carcasses. It sat silent and unmoving, underneath a horizon that just looked wrong. Darker, thinner, and wavering. More colorful, maybe, but not more cheery.
Foreboding was the word that came to mind.
Holt threw the last of the rocks, then pulled something else from a pocket. A polished black stone, something he had carried for weeks. It meant something to him. It was more than just a relic of a dance around a campfire. It represented something stronger, something that spoke of his change from isolationist to someone willing to trust.
But where had any of it gotten him?
He thought of Mira and Ben, back near the city’s center, alone. He could still see her kissing him. He saw it no matter how hard he tried to block it out. His hand gripped the stone tightly. His arm tensed. He should throw it like the others, toss it away, get rid of it. But he didn’t. He couldn’t.
Holt stuck the stone back in his pocket and grabbed something next to him. The Chance Generator felt warm in his hands. Pulling it from his pack had been automatic, like reaching out for an old friend.
Maybe he should just leave now, while he could. While Mira was gone and Zoey was asleep. He could just ride Southlift back up and disappear, head southeast like he’d always planned, toward the Low Marshes.
Of course, it wasn’t that simple, was it? He’d made promises. He’d told Zoey he believed in her, said he would help her however he could, and he’d meant it at the time.
But she didn’t need him. Not really. The truth was this Ben was who she needed now. Both Zoey and Mira. They needed someone to get them through the Strange Lands, and that definitely wasn’t
She was so accustomed to Ben’s touch, she almost didn’t notice it. In spite of everything, a part of her liked being close to him. It was familiar and comfortable. And that was something she hadn’t felt in awhile.
“Once we get to Polestar, you’ll come with me,” he continued. “To the Tower. Like we always talked about. You and I against the Core. We can beat it, Mira. I know it.”
He was right. They were a great team; they always had been. The Librarian had seen that. And she would be lying if she said she didn’t want to go with him, that the idea of casting off her burdens and promises wasn’t very attractive.
Why were things never simple?
5. LINES
HOLT SAT ON TOP of the thick wing of a ruined C-17 Globemaster, staring at the Crossroads around him as it emptied out, its residents all circling the drain of an uncertain future. As he did, he threw a handful of rocks, one at a time, at the back of an old air tanker, absently listening to the dull sound each made as it dented the rusted metal.
Zoey was asleep in the plane under him, Max lying next to her. The plane had been retrofitted into a visitors dorm, with three or four sleeping areas. Echo had stayed only long enough to point them to the beds, before he got pulled away into some new conflict. When Zoey fell asleep, Holt climbed up through an opening onto the roof.
The Crossroads was one of the more unique places he’d been, but it was still familiar. In a way, it was like every other place in the world now. Built on the crumbling remains of the World Before. Nothing was ever new anymore, everything was just repurposed. In its own way, it was inspiring … and sad.
Southlift had been rising and falling steadily. Full going up, empty coming down. If he turned around, he could just barely see Northlift at the opposite end of the quarry, over the tops of hundreds of rusting, forgotten aircraft carcasses. It sat silent and unmoving, underneath a horizon that just looked wrong. Darker, thinner, and wavering. More colorful, maybe, but not more cheery.
Foreboding was the word that came to mind.
Holt threw the last of the rocks, then pulled something else from a pocket. A polished black stone, something he had carried for weeks. It meant something to him. It was more than just a relic of a dance around a campfire. It represented something stronger, something that spoke of his change from isolationist to someone willing to trust.
But where had any of it gotten him?
He thought of Mira and Ben, back near the city’s center, alone. He could still see her kissing him. He saw it no matter how hard he tried to block it out. His hand gripped the stone tightly. His arm tensed. He should throw it like the others, toss it away, get rid of it. But he didn’t. He couldn’t.
Holt stuck the stone back in his pocket and grabbed something next to him. The Chance Generator felt warm in his hands. Pulling it from his pack had been automatic, like reaching out for an old friend.
Maybe he should just leave now, while he could. While Mira was gone and Zoey was asleep. He could just ride Southlift back up and disappear, head southeast like he’d always planned, toward the Low Marshes.
Of course, it wasn’t that simple, was it? He’d made promises. He’d told Zoey he believed in her, said he would help her however he could, and he’d meant it at the time.
But she didn’t need him. Not really. The truth was this Ben was who she needed now. Both Zoey and Mira. They needed someone to get them through the Strange Lands, and that definitely wasn’t
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