The Mask of Mirrors, M. Carrick; [best books to read in your 20s .txt] 📗

Cold weight landed on his back, crushing him flat. This time he had no leverage to let him roll. The claws tore in, teeth grinding against the bones of his shoulder, and the lines of Tuat’s vesica piscis were out of reach. Vargo screamed, his free hand scrabbling uselessly at the zlyzen’s flesh.

Then, blessedly, it stopped.

He felt its claws retract, its mouth pull back—and then it leapt clear, leaving him sprawled on the stone, bleeding and broken.

But not quite done.

Vision blurring, Vargo looked around for his rag. There it was, just beyond his hand. Too far away… until Alsius nudged it forward just far enough for him to snag its edge.

Finish it, a voice said.

He wasn’t alone. Fighting the darkness that threatened to overwhelm him, Vargo began to crawl.

The Great Amphitheatre, Old Island: Cyprilun 35

It was the Night of Hells all over again: a knife in her hand, the Rook at her side, and a pack of zlyzen snapping and clawing all around.

Except this Rook was the real one, his sword flashing silver in the coruscating light. The wellspring was a radiant pool of rippling waters, not a dry, empty pit. And Ren—

She was still afraid. But this time there was more inside her than simple animal fear.

Gammer Lindworm had Arkady, both arms painfully twisted behind her back and the girl too off-balance to kick. Vargo was working his way inward along the spiral, the wellspring flaring every time he wiped away a line—but to Ren’s eye there were still too many figures to go, and she didn’t even know if what he was doing would stop this collapse, restoring the boundary between the worlds so the wellspring would be safe. She and Arkady were both dosed with ash; they might stay in the dream, might still pose a threat. If they got too close, it would take only a small shove for Arkady to fall in—or Ren.

She didn’t think Mettore recognized her. He only saw someone coming to interfere and lurched to his feet, blood matting the side of his head and streaming into his eye. “I will end all of you fucking gnats. Get the fuck out of my city!”

Beneath the lace of her mask, Ren’s lip curled. “It’s our city, you chalk-faced bastard.”

As Mettore charged, the Rook stepped to meet him. Their blades slid until the guards caught with a dull clang. “Get the girl out of here,” the Rook said over his shoulder. “Before the zlyzen—”

He had no time for anything else. Mettore’s fist went for his hood. The Rook ducked and thrust him away with a boot to the stomach, and the duel began in earnest.

Leaving Ren to stop Gammer Lindworm. Arkady was writhing with all her ash-enhanced might, but against the old woman’s strength, it wasn’t nearly enough. Ondrakja had years of experience in controlling children, and she only needed Arkady alive, not unhurt. With a snarl of impatience, she stopped long enough to strike Arkady several times, stunning her into a daze.

Ren leapt across the numinat, trying desperately to avoid the lines. But without the Rook keeping them at bay, the zlyzen rushed forward, and her tiny knife didn’t have nearly the reach of his sword. Here in the dream, ash did nothing to shield her from pain; agony ripped through her thigh when one of them raked her with a claw.

Sedge bowled into it from the side, knocking the zlyzen across the ground. They both fell onto the numinat, bodies spasming as the energy poured through them. He’d bought Ren time, but at the cost of leaving Vargo alone; red flowered through the white of Vargo’s shirt as one of the creatures raked his back. The Rook was busy with Mettore, Sedge was still convulsing, and Ren was the only thing between Gammer Lindworm and the wellspring.

She felt its energy flowing quietly at her back. It would have been reassuring… except she posed as much danger to it as Arkady did.

And Gammer Lindworm knew it. She dropped the girl’s limp body at her feet, stained lips curling in a gap-toothed snarl. “You came back. You always do. Back after you poisoned me, back after I poisoned you, back after you ran away in the Depths, back tonight. Or is this what you came for?” Digging a long-nailed hand under her layers of rags, she pulled out the Acrenix medallion, dangling it like she was luring a cat.

The longer Ren could keep the old hag distracted, the longer the wellspring was safe. Vargo was still moving, reaching out for the pulsing Tricat painted onto the stone. But although Sedge had finally wrenched himself off the numinat, he hadn’t gotten up.

I have to keep her talking.

“I came back for the wellspring,” Ren said, her voice shaking. “For Ažerais’s Dream. For my people.”

Gammer Lindworm’s cackle shattered the air like a physical thing, ripping across the dream and into reality. “Your people? What people are those? You have no koszenie to record your kin. You have no kin.” She drew nearer step by step, dragging Arkady along almost as an afterthought. “Your mother’s people cast her out because of you. Your mother died because of you. And now? Now you’re letting your friends sacrifice themselves for you.” Her gaze flicked past Ren’s shoulder to where Sedge lay unmoving. “When we’re done, all Nadežra, all Vraszan will know you destroyed the wellspring. You’ll have nothing.”

Ren’s throat closed up. She wanted to deny it, to say it was all lies… but Gammer Lindworm—Ondrakja—had always known how to hurt the people around her. They’d stayed at her side anyway, bound by the ties of their knot, because they were too young and too vulnerable to know any better.

The old woman still wore her knot charm around her throat, tangled in the chain of the medallion. Stained and filthy, but still recognizably the symbol of the thread that bound her to the Fingers.

Threads.

The wellspring’s light surged again as Vargo broke