Free The Gods and their Machines by Oisin McGann

stared straight ahead and avoided their eyes, a bitter expression on his face.
    Jered Wyman was the name of the madman who had killed his class.
    The class was quiet as they strolled along the road to their school. Mrs Archaw looked at her watch.
    ‘I see you’re going to be on time for Mr Morthrom’s class …that’s of course unless you have more questions. In which case, I think we could stretch our little walk out a bit longer, do another lap around the block. So, any more questions?’
    A dozen hands shot into the air. She clasped her hands together.
    ‘It’s amazing how a bit of fresh air can stimulate one’s brain.’

Fifteen
    R iadni’s father had never shown her how to use a gun. Girls did not use guns, after all. Up until now, she had had no idea there were so many things that could go wrong.
    ‘You have to tamp the powder right down,’ Benyan was saying, ‘and then the ball must fit tightly up against it. Any space between it and the powder will allow gases to expand inside the barrel and it could explode on you. Don’t let the barrel drop towards the ground as you aim, and if it doesn’t fire when you pull the trigger, point it in a safe direction for a minute in case the powder is burning slowly. It might still fire.’
    They were on the firing range and Benyan was instructing her in the use of a flintlock pistol. There was so much to remember: clean the barrel constantly, keep the powder dry, how to load and how to avoid a misfire … She noticed that the more senior members of the order carried revolvers and bolt-action rifles – modern weapons captured from Altimans and coveted by the veteran fighters. But all the young recruits learned on the older weapons.
    ‘Now,’ Benyan continued, ‘hold it at arm’s length, crook your elbow a little to take the shock … that’s it. It’ll kick when it fires. Look down the barrel, line up the sights and squeeze slowly …’
    His hand held her arm as he guided her movements and she wondered if he was aware of what he was doing. Lakrem Elbeth watched from behind them and she knew he must be noting this forbidden contact. He seemed to be taking a personal interest in her introduction to their training.
    She squeezed off a shot and her arm jolted with the shock. The sound nearly deafened her. She looked through the smoke at the circular target. She was wide of the mark, but at least she had hit the board.
    ‘Nice shot,’ Benyan nodded. ‘You could be good at this, you know.’
    There was a warmth in his voice and he kept looking at her and then averting his gaze. Riadni smiled and self-consciously adjusted her wig. Her arm hurt from the recoil of the gun, but she didn’t care, she was having the time of her life. They had started with horsemanship and she had managed to match the boys move for move. Elbeth had been impressed and suggested that she try some shooting. He had partnered her with Benyan and soon she had completely lost track of time. While he taught her, the boy had talked to her about his parents and why he had joined the Hadram Cassal. Listening to his story, she imagined what she would have done if someone had killed her parents – probably exactly as he had done.
    Handling the hot barrel carefully, she started the processof reloading the pistol. Elbeth approached them and with a motion with his hand dismissed Benyan, who bowed and stood back.
    ‘We can continue your lesson another time,’ Elbeth told her, ‘but it is getting late and your father will be starting to worry. I think it would be best if you didn’t tell him you were here. He wouldn’t take it well.’
    Riadni nodded and put the pistol down on the table beside her. Looking up at the evening sky, she realised how late she was. Her parents would be furious. She had missed supper.
    ‘You are welcome to come back,’ said Elbeth, ‘but next time, don’t be afraid to just ask to see me. I will always have time for the daughter of such a good friend. And such a fine