Shorefall (The Founders Trilogy #2) - Robert Jackson Bennett Page 0,55

me.

She watched the dark waters flying by below the prow of their boat.

Is that what he thinks of me? That I damned him?

He had it all wrong, she thought. He had no idea.

But I didn’t. I saved him.

There was a distant series of popping sounds from somewhere behind them.

And I gave up so much to do it…

The pops grew to a tremendous creaking and crackling. Ofelia and the crew looked back, alarmed, and watched as the galleon quickly sank into the seas. It was like watching an island suddenly plummet into the depths.

“I kept it up as long as I could,” said a low, rich voice behind her. “Hopefully it won’t cause you any more issues than it already has…”

There was a spasm of nausea in her stomach, and she slowly turned to find him standing at the prow next to her, staring out at the open ocean before them, the blank, black eyes of his gleaming black mask fixed on the horizon.

“M-My Prophet!” she said. “How did you get here?”

He slowly turned to look at her.

“Quickly,” he said.

She was unsure what to say. How strange it was to hear the voice that had whispered to her for the past three decades emanating from this figure, dressed in black carnival clothing, standing on the deck with his hands clasped behind his back. To see him here, alive, alert, and real—and to see the works he could do—was something she was still struggling to comprehend.

He turned very slightly to look back at the galleon, or whatever bit was still visible. She felt her skin crawl. If only she could see some hint of his eyes…

But then he spoke, and all of her concerns vanished.

“I wish to apologize for how all of that proceeded, Ofelia,” he said. “It was…not as I intended, or desired, to say the least. You have helped me greatly in the past years. I would have seen you better attended to than that.”

“Th-Thank you, My Prophet,” she said.

He lifted his face to the sky, his black mask shining in the dawning sun. “But it is good to be back. It’s good to persist in this world for another morning more, no matter what condition I might be in. And we have so many works to do.”

“Did…Did Gregor…Did he make it off the—”

“Oh, he survived,” he said. “He and Sancia both.” He cocked his head. “She is a very…resourceful thing. But she still has no idea what the construct will do to her—or what it’s already done to her. That may prove useful.” He looked at her. “He came to you? You saw him?”

She nodded.

“What did he say?”

“He threatened to kill me. I…I knew our struggle would ask much of us, My Prophet. But I admit…I never imagined my own child would threaten me with murder.”

“No…No, that is regrettable,” he said. “I promised you that I would return your son to you, Ofelia, in exchange for all your labors. And I do not break promises. But it is a regrettable thing that in order to fix a monstrous world, one must become a little monstrous in one’s own right.”

Together they looked out as the city came into view. The tremendous coastal batteries towered over the mouth of the bay, their massive shrieker arrays carefully tracking the progress of their caravel. Next they saw the campo walls, tall and smooth and white, and beyond them the spires and towers of the campos, all brightly lit with countless colors.

Ofelia had no mind for any of this—and she knew her guest did not either. Instead they both stared at the huge, black dome set in the far back center of the city, its crown cracked and crumbling, its walls graying with dust.

“The site is still not in our possession?” he asked.

“I thought it wisest to devote our resources toward your restoration, My Prophet,” she said.

“Well. I can’t fault you that, of course…And I doubt if ownership will