The Broken Man

by Brandon Jones

  Master Roetu knelt next to Josen, checked his pulse, and prodded a few more tender places, muttering under his breath and jotting down notes on a pad as he did.

  “You’re healing well,” Roetu said. The words came out hesitantly.

  Josen shifted and looked at the doctor, stared at him until Master Roetu returned the gaze. He looked uncomfortable, but Josen couldn’t find it in him to care.

  “What do you know?” Josen asked.

  Roetu grimaced. “That is a rather broad question. I’m not entirely sure what—”

  “Don’t,” Josen said, his voice flat. “You know about my ability to heal.”

  Roetu nodded, though it looked like the movement physically pained him.

  “And you know ceral fuels that ability.”

  Another pained nod.

  “How?” Josen asked. “Why didn’t you say anything?”

  Roetu sighed, opened his mouth as if to answer, and then changed his mind. He rummaged through his bag of instruments and pulled out a short wooden splint. He held it up for Josen to see, and the wood changed. It broke into gleaming white porcelain in the elderly doctor’s fingers, then to smooth black coal, then drooped as it broke into a strip of thick cotton cloth, before reverting back to misshapen wood.

  Josen stared in dumb silence.

  “I suspected for a long time,” Roetu said. “Since you were a child. Some children develop an intolerance to ceral unconnected to The Ability, but not many.”

  He looked at Roetu’s hands. There were no signs of rub use there—no scars, no hint of a high on his face or in his bearing.

  “You can break? Without rub?”

  “I can.”

  I’m not alone. The thought was simultaneously thrilling and disappointing. He wasn’t alone, but neither was he unique, not in the way he assumed for so long.

  “Are there others?” Josen asked.

  “Some,” said Roetu. He ran his hands through his thinning hair but continued without more prodding. “There isn’t a secret club or any such romantic nonsense, if that’s what you’re asking. Presumably, the majority of children born with The Ability don’t survive to adulthood. They die in infancy—especially those born into poverty—starved to death at the breast of a mother whose principal source of food is subsidized ceral grain. It’s impossible to know how many. The few others with The Ability that I know of were all born to wealthy families with ample access to other, more expensive foods. Like yourself. We live quiet lives mostly, trying not to draw attention. I’m actually considered slightly reckless in our circles, with my using The Ability to help heal others like I do. It is something of a risk, but one I think is worth the—”

  “Wait,” Josen said, feeling suddenly swept off his feet. “What do you mean?”

  “I’m sorry?” Roetu said, confused.

  “You said you use your breaking to help heal people.”

  “Well yes. And we prefer ‘The Ability’ over…” Roetu gave an involuntary shiver before continuing. “Over ‘Breaking.’ Or Remancy, if you must. Breaking is what redhands do.”

  “But Breaking—or The Ability, whatever—it doesn’t work on people,” Josen insisted, dread rising in his chest.

  Roetu looked at Josen strangely. “Of course it does. Each person who manifests The Ability will have some talents others do not—just as some minds are naturally more artistic or drawn to complex mathematics—but most have the ability to work at least minor Remancy on flesh. It simply requires practice, and a willingness to learn anatomy and the workings of the human body.”

  “But—”

  “I’ve made my living as a healer by using The Ability on bodies. I promise it is quite possible. How do you think you survived with that bullet in your stomach? Unless I miss my guess, your reserve of ceral energy was spent when you took that wound. You couldn’t have healed so much as a sunburn.”

  Josen lowered his face slowly into his hands, feeling ill. He could have saved Akelle. Tears filled his eyes, coursed down his face. God’s tears, he could have…

  “Oh, Josen,” Roetu said, voice soft with compassion. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to imply… There’s nothing you could have done for that boy, not even in a ceral trance, like you were. I have more skill with Remancy to heal than anyone else I know, and I doubt even I could have done anything had the boy fallen in my lap instead of yours. Neck wounds work too fast, and The Ability does not—not with bodies.”

  Sobs wracked Josen’s weak body, shook him until if felt as if they were shaking his very soul. If he had known… But he hadn’t known. Josen hadn’t known anything—hadn’t known Saul would betray him, hadn’t known Berden or Lady Stonelowe were in on the scheme, hadn’t known enough about ceral or rub or Breaking.

  And it killed his friend.

  Josen wept for a long time. He felt the doctor’s thin hand on his shoulder, and Roetu muttered something about speaking again later before leaving. Josen looked up finally, his eyes falling on his closet. For just a moment, he half expected Akelle to climb out of the closet again, stupid little grin on his face, with some crazy idea about some new girl he was chasing and a plan for the next big heist.

  He didn’t.

  * * *

  The Ludon air was wet and heavy. Thick, foggy mist clung to the night air, soaking everything without bothering to actually rain. Josen thought he could hear the sound of thunder echoing across the ocean, but maybe that was only the waves raging against the cliffs at the base of the Finger.

  Josen tried to wipe the condensation from his hands again, to no avail. Everything he wore was soaked, and his hands only came away wet again. This starving mist made climbing slow work, and he was only fifty feet up the side of the Finger—a little more than halfway to the First Prefect’s window.

  The climb shouldn’t have been a difficult one. Josen broke handholds into the stone exterior of the Finger to make the way easy, and the window to the First Prefect’s office was only another thirty feet up, but Josen’s still-frail body didn’t care much for what should be, and he had to be careful to unmake the handholds as he climbed. It was slow, wet, tedious work.

  And it made him miss Akelle.

  Josen paused to wipe his tears on his shoulder as he pulled himself up the last few feet to the open window. His calves and forearms burned fiercely from the climb despite his ceral burn, but his head was only a few feet below the windowsill now. He glanced up at the cold, empty window, and heaved himself up the last few feet. The glass was closed, but that was no barrier for Josen. He grasped the edge of the windowsill with one hand, placed the other on the glass, and immediately felt the window break into sand.

  Josen tied an escape rope before turning to examine the darkness of the office. He removed a small stone from his pocket and held it aloft as it began to glow—a trick he had learned only a few floors up from where he stood now. The broken, glowing stone cast an odd greenish light around the sparse room. The office was mostly empty. It looked as though Lady Stonelowe’s replacement had yet to make any changes to the office—if a new First Prefect had even been chosen.

  He didn’t care either way. Josen had eyes for only one thing: the desk. Those had been Akelle’s last words. He scrubbed at a fresh wave of tears, trying to banish a memory he couldn’t suppress.

  Her office, Akelle said, his mouth red, his blood on Josen’s hands.

  The desk.

  Josen stared at the desk for a long time, not understanding. He wondered for weeks about Akelle’s last words. Why did Stonelowe’s desk matter at all, let alone so much that Akelle would use his dying breath to speak of it?

  Josen didn’t want anything to do with her. He didn’t even want to remember she’d existed, let alone go to a place she’d called her own. But he couldn’t get the words out of his head. He had to know. And now, standing here, staring at Stonelowe’s desk…

  Josen started laughing.

  Rage and sorrow and a sick sense of irony washed through him. It was too much. He sagged into the c
hair behind the desk and laughed until his sides hurt, until his laughs turned to sobs, until his sobs turned to silence.

  How had no one else ever seen it? Was the First Prefect so intimidating that no one bothered to look at what she sat behind? Had she even known?

  Lady Stonelowe, First Prefect of the Ladies of the Archon, had ruled her little portion of the Passbound Union from behind the Fifth Vuriche, the very piece of art Josen and Akelle had agreed to find for Madame Junishu. God’s tears, she had used it as a desk. Akelle had been so excited to finally have a legendary job, something the Broken Man would be known for forever…

  Josen glanced around the room, searching for a liquor cabinet, for something flammable. He could see the desk burning in his mind, imagined guiding the flames from place to place with a trail of spilled alcohol. The flames wouldn’t need much coaxing. Josen could smell the heady scent of wood polish coming from the desk. The fire would devour that priceless piece of art gleefully, and Josen would watch.

  There. A pitcher of water on a table near the door. A small lantern hung on the wall above it. That could work.

  Josen thrust a hand into the cool, clean water, reached for the power inside him, and broke the water into something new. Slick, bitter oil coated his hand as he removed it from the pitcher. He broke the oil on his hand back into water, then flicked the water from his hand as he turned back toward the desk, pitcher in one hand, lantern in the other. The Vuriche would never do anything but remind Josen of the look on Akelle’s face as he bled to death while Josen held him.

  Josen could feel the heat of the flames on his face before he even started the fire, could imagine it burning his face, singeing his hair. Josen emptied the pitcher of broken oil onto the desk, then ignited the lantern. He stared for a long moment at the oil covered desk, glinting in the lantern light.

  He felt insane, and he didn’t care. The world was insane. Josen would just have to be insane right back. Nothing so mundane as sanity would do the job at this point. He tossed the lantern lazily toward the desk.

  Seriously, Josen? Didn’t you try to burn down Ludon once already?

  Cold sanity washed over Josen as Akelle’s unmistakable voice rang through his mind. He lunged after the lantern in a desperate attempt to catch it before it hit the desk. A hand closed briefly around the hot glass, then let go immediately, involuntarily at the pain. The burning lantern shattered and flashed into violent light and heat across the surface of the desk for the barest of a second, then extinguished with a mighty hiss as the oil reverted to plain water. The room went dark as quickly as it had burst into light—even the lantern had extinguished itself in the sudden release of steam.

  Josen could practically hear his friend laughing at him. I think for the safety of the city at large, I’m officially banning you from lanterns.

  Josen swept the lantern off the desk before the lamp oil could soak into the wood, then collapsed to the floor, laughing. He didn’t stay long, though. Between the laughing, the crashing lantern and whatever other racket Josen made over the last few minutes, someone must have finally realized the First Prefect’s office was not empty.

  “Hey!” a woman’s voice called outside the door. “Who’s in there?” Josen could hear scrabbling outside the office as someone tried to open the locked door, then began fumbling for keys.

  Josen leapt to his feet and pausing at the window. He hesitated, feeling like he had forgotten something.

  “Come out, or we’ll break the door down!” came the voice from outside the door. Whoever she was, she apparently didn’t have a key to this office. The door rattled and cracked as something heavy crashed into it.

  With a grin, Josen reached into his bag and pulled out a gleaming steel mask. He rushed back to the desk, broke the mask into hard clay, and cracked it carefully into several large pieces.

  The door shuddered again, the hinges cracking ominously. Time to be gone. Josen ran back to the window and slid down the rope as fast as he could manage and was only a little surprised to find Tori waiting for him on the ground.

  “What do you think you’re doing?” Tori asked.

  Josen broke the rope before answering, the entire length crumbling into dust as he turned to walk away from the tower with Tori at his side. They needed to move quickly, but the fog would work in their favor tonight. It would probably only take a few minutes for the Ladies to resort to searching the grounds around the Finger, but Josen intended to lose himself in the foggy night long before that happened.

  “How did you know I was here?” Josen asked.

  “I figured you’d try something wildly irrational sometime soon.”

  “You had me followed.”

  “Clever boy,” Tori said. “But I’ve got to say, breaking into the Finger was not what I expected. Why in the starving hells would you think that was a good idea?” she asked, gesturing to the tower prison over her shoulder.

  So Josen told her. He told her about the job he and Akelle had taken from Madam Junishu. He told her about Akelle’s dying words, told her what he had found in the First Prefect’s office and how he had nearly burned the Vuriche. Tori listened silently as Josen told her why he hadn’t, what he imagined Akelle would have said.

  “You know what I think Akelle would say?” Tori said after a moment of silence. “I think he would remind you of all the amazing things he did that were way better than dying.”

  Josen laughed at that and tried to wipe discreetly at his eyes. “Yeah,” he said. “You have a whole life of awesome things to remember me by,” Josen said, imitating Akelle’s voice, “and all you can think of is the one time I didn’t get away?” The words caught in Josen’s throat, but Tori laughed softly and took his hand, giving it a reassuring squeeze.

  “I miss him too.” She didn’t let go of his hand, and he didn’t take it back. “So, what now?”

  Josen blew out a breath. “Keep Reverating, I guess. I was kind of planning to hand the title to Vale at the end of the season, but I don’t think they’d let me do that now that they’re giving her Berden’s old seat. Besides, if I stay, then I get to be Arch Reverate Steward for the next two years.”

  Tori nodded. “And the desk? Are you going to tell Junishu where it is, collect the money?”

  Josen didn’t answer for a long time. He would have his hands full just trying to keep up with his duties as the new Arch Steward, trying to put Basin City back together and putting what was left of the Chessian rebellion to rest. He should just take the money. It would be the smarter thing to do by far.

  “No,” Josen said finally. If he wasn’t going to burn the starving thing… “I’m going to steal it.”

  The End

  Acknowledgements

  I had some amazing support that helped me get this book to where it is today. To Neal, Kevin, Acacia, Casie and Daniel, thank you for reading the bad versions of Josen's story so that I could figure out the good one. You're the best writing group out there and without you this book wouldn't exist. Sorry about Akelle. I really did try to save him.

  To Austin, thanks for agreeing to beta-read a total stranger's book.

  To my mom, thanks for being eager to read my first novel even though it's well outside your comfort zone.

  To Ari Ibarra, thanks for putting together a beautiful and compelling cover.

  And most especially thank you Emily for letting me talk to you endlessly about the people who live in my head. I couldn't imagine a more supportive wife.

  Lastly, to all you who read this book—you're the best.

  Don't get caught.

  -Brandon

 

 

 
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