How the Stars did Fall Read Online Free Page B

and he plucked them one by one and ate them. He found a shallow stream of darkened water, probably the contaminated effluvium of some mountain mining operation, and drank from that stream, and once he had his fill he led the horse over by the reins and guided its head to the same water. The sun now shone with less fierceness and each step forward diminished it further, until the sky took on a gray countenance and the land leveled off and a new wind blew in from the sea.
    Reaching the beach, the horse slowed, fatigue setting in. Faraday set its course to the north and it plodded on, kicking up sand with each stride. In the dim light of the evening, Faraday could still scan around him for signs of human habitation. One sign would have been everything to him at that point, for the pain had increased and he knew he could not keep riding in the dark. The horse would not want to and even if he could persuade it for a while it could end up walking into a ditch and breaking a leg. His eyes closed, Faraday listened to the steady lapping of the waves, like the constant ticks of a cosmic clock. He realized that he wanted to sleep. To let his consciousness check out for a time. To delay. He would deal with his leg and his traitorous brother later. And he did sleep, in short bursts, the length of which he could not easily measure. But every time he slept something jolted him awake. The movement of the horse, the pain. Eventually he awoke to complete darkness, the moon only a sliver above him, the crescent offering just enough light that he could tell where the sand ended and the ocean began.
    Then it appeared to him. Five, maybe six, points of orange light some distance ahead, floating above the waters. This vision renewed Faraday’s energy and he tightened his grip on the reins and urged the horse to go faster, to ride towards the lights. The horse, as if sensing its master’s urgency, increased its pace. As he got closer, Faraday saw that the lights did not float but were carried. Men holding torches huddled together on a wharf like the remnant of some ancient tribe, watching as one among them pulled something out of the sea. Faraday rode all the way up to that wharf and got down from the horse and stood holding his leg, the rags covering his wound crimson and cold, the smell of iron hanging around him like a cloud, his brow slick with sweat, the pain coming and going, enough to make him think of nothing else. All of this Faraday endured as he stood waiting. Then the lights began to move again and the men walked the span of the wharf, one tall and portly man ahead of the group. That one had in his hands a rope and hanging from it was a most curious machine. It looked like a barrel, but holes had been carved out on the sides and there were wires wrapping around it like veins.
    The men were boisterous and laughing, clapping each other on the backs, as if they had accomplished something of significance together at the end of that wharf. The portly man kept looking back at the others and was not the first to notice Faraday nearly bleeding out on the sand. One of the other men caught sight of him first.
    “Doctor Tennyson,” the man said, speaking to the portly one. “There is an injured man ahead.”
    Immediately, Tennyson handed the contraption to another and took hold of Faraday by the arm.
    “Gentlemen, we must help this man,” he said.
    “Let’s carry him inside. I’ve got an empty room,” one of the men said.
    Together those two men carried Faraday about half a mile to an inn. The room was simple, fit for servants rather than guests. The doctor examined Faraday. He brought out a leather satchel and from it produced a forceps and a scalpel, and the innkeeper took a little pan from his kitchen and placed it down next to the bed. Faraday still lay there in a haze and he heard the men speaking as if from a great distance. And he waited for some kind of anesthetic, opium or otherwise, to come out of that bag, but none came. The