The Archive of the Forgotten (Hell's Library #2) - A. J. Hackwith Page 0,77

out of here.”

Hero saw what he meant. To either side of his section of the bridge, the edges hadn’t slowed with the sacrifice; if anything, they sped up. Sand spilled away beneath scrambling feet, and the voices turned accusatory. Anger snapped over the crowd like a waiting storm, and another figure slipped over the edge.

“Back! Get back!” Rami swung his sword in a short, controlled arc.

Hero winced. A furious man with a sword might have kept panicked souls at bay, but it also drew twice as many eyes. An undertow of accusation hardened through the crowd, until it was just Hero and Rami isolated on the swiftly shrinking section of bridge.

“Let us through!” Rami swung his sword again with increased desperation. Hero saw the embers of anger on Rami’s face, saw the sand and the bridge unraveling faster, faster. Hero was falling, but Rami—he wouldn’t let Rami fall again.

“Stop.” He gripped Rami’s elbow as he prepared to swing again. Muscles bunched and jumped under his fingers. The bridge had narrowed to the size of a narrow staircase now, forcing Hero into Rami’s space. “Just stop.”

“What?” Muscles jumped again as Rami stared at him in dismay. “We can’t give up.”

“I’m not giving up,” Hero said, and he took Rami’s confusion as an opportunity to step under his guard and shove. Rami stumbled—toward the crowd, toward the section of bridge that wasn’t disappearing. “I’ve just figured out how the game is rigged.”

The bridge shrunk to the width of a dinner plate. Mist churned, thickening and clinging to the evaporating edges like thorns in wool. Hero refused to calculate how far down it was. There was no wind, but something warm and decay sweet wafted up from the dark. Sweet, perhaps like anise. Gods, let it be anise.

“What game?” Rami cried. He had one foot on the narrowed plank of bridge, but the other hesitated, anchored on the stable section. He had enough sense to know that he shouldn’t give up the ground gained, probably believed he could pull Hero to safety. Still.

Heaven appeared to make angels as stupid as heroes. And Hero knew how to deal with those.

“The trolley problem!” The width of a dinner plate had narrowed to a single plank. Hero rearranged himself sideways and steely kept his eyes off the mists. “Claire told me there’s no real answer, but I think I figured out my own.”

The plank had become a bar and was headed toward a tightrope. How lucky that Hero had been written with excellent balance. How unlucky that he’d been written desperately afraid of heights. His breath was being slowly squeezed out of his chest. Rami reached out again but Hero held up his hand.

“The one or the many—it’s bullshit. The only way to play is to declare the game rigged.” Hero tipped his head back, because it was always better to be angry than terrified. “Rigged! I won’t sacrifice myself, and I am through with people sacrificing themselves for me! So, what now, you so-called divine judges? Well?”

As if in answer, Hero felt the pressure beneath his toes narrow and the edges of his toes flex on empty air. He made the mistake of looking down, and the nausea of panic made him squeeze his eyes shut. “Oh hell.”

“Hero.” One foot held Rami’s weight on stable bridge, while all the rest of him seemed stretched, attempting to span the space. He looked anguished. “I understand. I respect your answer, and you. You are a singular creature, Hero. The gods are wrong, if they can’t see your—”

“Don’t start with the sympathy now, or I really will throw myself off this bridge.” Hero’s eyes stung and leaked; it was ridiculous he could notice that seconds from oblivion. His knees swayed out from under him. “Instead of just fall.”

“That’s the thing about falling . . .” Rami’s voice had a current of calm that made Hero look. Rami had put away his sword. His face was overcome with an intense look of concentration as he appeared to gauge the disappearing bar and take an unsteady step across it.

“Rami—”

“That’s the thing about falling,” Rami said again as Hero’s foot slipped off the edge. He just had time for his stomach to do a loop up his throat before he felt weightless. “None of us ever fall alone.”

Hero caught the impression of arms locking around him tight, cool feathers against his cheek, and a shriek of something slicing free through muscle and sinew as they tilted free of the bridge, and