Gates of Ruin (Magelands Eternal Siege, #6) by Christopher Mitchell (top 10 books of all time .TXT) 📗

was in pain, and for a moment, all he wanted to do was lie down and sleep. He stared up at the blue sky. The view looked peaceful, apart from the flocks of squawking gulls that were circling overhead. They would survive the coming catastrophes, he thought, and for some reason, the thought made him want to laugh.

* * *

Time passed, though how much was impossible for Corthie to say as he lay on the deck. Sounds came and went – the roar of the water, the screams, the tumble of collapsing buildings, the groaning from the beams of what was left of the ship. The hot sun dried Corthie’s face, and he could taste salt on his lips.

‘Hey,’ said a slow, tired voice; ‘are you alive?’

Corthie glanced over. A sailor, his clothes hanging in ragged strips, was leaning over him and Van.

‘I think so,’ said Corthie.

‘What about your friend?’

Corthie pushed himself up into a sitting position. Van was lying on the deck next to him, his chest rising and falling.

‘Aye,’ said Corthie; ‘he’s alive.’

‘That makes three of us,’ said the sailor, his eyes bloodshot. ‘Three. The captain’s gone, and the officers. It’s a miracle any of us are alive. The gods were with us.’

‘Aye; I’m sure they were,’ Corthie muttered.

He stood, using the railing to support his weight. The water level had fallen further, and now reached halfway up the tenement block. All around, the tops of buildings were poking out of the water like little islands, while between them, green-skinned bodies and floating debris were bobbing in the currents. To their left rose a complex of high, stone buildings, with one shaped into a circle.

‘What’s that?’ he said, pointing.

‘The Northern Pits,’ said the sailor. ‘We landed between that and the walls of Old Tanton, smack into the middle of Fordian territory, or, what’s left of it.’ He crouched by the railing, his head bent forward in exhaustion. ‘I should have died. I’m alive because I disobeyed orders. The captain told us to draw in the sails, and I ran away and hid in a storage locker under the deck.’ He shuddered. ‘It was like a being in a coffin.’

‘What about below deck?’ said Corthie. ‘Could anyone be alive down there?’

‘There is no below deck,’ said the sailor. ‘It was ripped off when we hit the first buildings.’

Corthie closed his eyes. ‘I had a friend down there.’

‘You had a friend? I had sixteen crewmates.’

Van spluttered, his chest heaving as water surged from his mouth. Corthie helped him sit, leaning his back against the railing.

‘Sohul…’ he gasped, as he opened his eyes. ‘Corthie?’

‘You saved me, Van,’ Corthie said, ‘your advice saved us both, but Sohul was down in his cabin, and Silva was swept away.’

Van’s face crumpled, and he started to weep.

‘He’s in shock,’ said the sailor.

‘I think we’re all in shock,’ said Corthie. ‘Thousands have just died.’

‘Half the city’s inundated. It might be more than thousands. I should never have left Cape Armour; I should never have taken this voyage.’

‘Cape Armour will be gone too,’ said Van, a hollow look on his face as his tears ceased. ‘The entire west coast of Khatanax took the brunt of that wave, and more will come. Lostwell is finished.’

The sailor stared at him.

‘Edmond did this,’ Van went on; ‘the accursed Second Ascendant. Bastard.’

Corthie noticed that a small group of Fordian civilians had joined them on the roof, a handful of drenched and bleeding survivors from the housing block where they had landed. Others were on the roofs of the neighbouring buildings, wailing and lamenting as they stared at the flooded city. Corthie climbed down from the ruined deck and stood on the flat roof. He walked to the edge and looked down.

‘The water level is falling fast,’ he said. ‘Van, we need to go.’

Van staggered over to join him.

‘Look,’ said Corthie. ‘Just a few minutes ago, the water was halfway up the side of the building; now it’s only a few feet above the ground.’

Van frowned. ‘Another wave is coming.’

‘What?’

‘The ocean is being sucked back, ready to batter the coast again.’

‘Then we need to get out of here; head east, away from the coast. How long have we got?’

Van shrugged.

‘We can’t give up yet,’ said Corthie; ‘we’re alive.’

‘Sohul’s not.’

‘I know; I’m sorry. He was a good man. And Silva too; she…’

‘Immortals can’t drown,’ muttered Van. ‘Silva will be fine, for now. She’ll float up onto the shore someplace or another, but even she won’t be able survive what’s coming next.’

‘Then we get to Old Alea. If the Ascendants are there, it ought to be the safest place in the city. The wave wasn’t high enough to reach up there. If we can…’

‘You don’t understand, Corthie.’

‘Then humour me. You might be right; we might all die today, or tomorrow, but I’m not giving up. Come on, let’s get moving.’

Van shook his head.

‘Are you just going to stay here?’ cried Corthie. ‘Are you going to meekly await your death? Have you forgotten your promise to my sister?’

Van glanced away.

‘Fine,’ said Corthie. ‘I’m going. Good luck.’

He turned, and began to hurry towards the stairwell that led into the housing block.

‘Wait,’ said Van. ‘I’ll come, even though it’s pointless.’

Corthie waited for him to catch up, then they walked to the stairs, passing the ragged band of survivors, who stared at them. Corthie led the way, and they ran down the stairs. Water was cascading from the upper floors, and they were drenched again as they descended into the darkness of the stairwell. Van staggered and slipped a few times, and Corthie took his arm. The water level was only up to their shins when they reached ground level, and was still falling. Corthie checked the position of the sun to the west, and turned in the opposite direction. No one living was out on the street, but it was almost blocked in places by drifting bodies, and mountains of piled-up debris.

‘Can you run?’ said Corthie.

‘No chance,’ said Van; ‘I can barely walk.’

‘Climb onto my back.’

‘What?’

‘Do