Ghostwater (Cradle, #5)

by Will Wight

“Do you have a name?” Lindon braced himself and seized the rusted construct, cycling madra to resist the effects of whatever the dream-water did. Nothing. It felt like ordinary wet metal against his fingertips. “Before landing in the well, I was basically a big ball of memories with the ability to produce sound, so I didn't have much in the way of casual conversation. But they did call me things, let me see if I can remember...garbage, that was a common one. Defect. Junk. Chaff. Waste. By-product of a failed experiment. Failure, that was another favorite. Dregs. Slag. Scum. Refuse. Dross. These aren't very flattering, are they?” “Pleased to meet you, Dross,” Lindon said, dipping his head slightly to the construct. “I am Wei Shi Lindon.” “Oh, you have a name too! That's exciting. This is the first real conversation I've ever had. And I am loving it, by the way. Less...intellectually stimulating than I had imagined. I was picturing myself debating with great minds, you know, but this is still exciting! I'm still excited to be talking with...you.”

Lindon stoppered a vial and grabbed the rusty ball. “You’re a memory construct, aren’t you?” “You’re carrying me. What’s happening? This is a rush! But maybe slow it down.”

“Mmmmmm ah, that goes down smooth.” “Does it feel like you’re eating it?” Many constructs of similar function could merge with one another, but it had never occurred to him to wonder what it might feel like for the construct. “Didn't have too many memories left in that one, actually, so there was nothing too special about it. It's like when humans share blood.” “Humans don't share blood.” “They should.

“She said her grand-nephew was in there. Someone you know?” Mercy scratched her head, looking away. “Probably, yes. She has more than one grand-nephew, but uh...it's a good bet that she's talking about Harmony.” “Your cousin?” “No, no, we were from entirely different branches.” She twirled hair around one finger, still looking away. “He was my fiancé.” Yerin's eyebrows raised. She had hoped that Mercy might recall some little bits and pieces about her distant cousin. She hadn't thought she'd hook a shark on the first cast.

As Lindon seized Dross, he actually felt the construct in his Remnant hand. It felt like gripping a handful of cotton. A pang of hunger ran up the arm into Lindon’s soul, but he kept the limb under control. An instant of lost focus, and the arm would devour Dross. “That gave me a tingle. Is everything all right?” Sweat rolled down Lindon’s face, but he forced a smile. “Hold still, please.”

“It occurs to me,” the construct said, “to wonder about my identity. You know what I mean? Was I me before I could think freely? Now, when you merge me with this key, I’ll be taking on…who knows what memories and functions.”

His spiritual grip was slipping, and he was essentially bleeding madra. Even with the added focus from the Dream Well, he was having trouble holding both constructs in the right shape at the same time. Dross kept shifting gradually. “Will I think of myself differently? How will I see the world? Will I even be able to think anymore, or will I be like I was before?” Heavens help me, Lindon thought to himself. Then he shoved the constructs together, hoping they would match. “Will I be myself? What if I hate being a key, but it’s too late?” There was resistance. Lindon had to push the last of his madra into the effort and shove them together until he forced them to click. It was a good thing Dross didn’t have a physical body, or this would have been excruciatingly painful. “On second thought, I’m not sure I…” Dross’ voice froze halfway through the sentence. The light in the gem flickered and rippled. Lindon’s spiritual grip tightened; had he failed? Motion passed through the light, as though something were swimming inside the sapphire. The light started to change, staining the vessel purple. “…want to do this,” Dross continued. “It’s too risky, isn’t it? Who would gamble their very self on a game of chance?”

“I feel good. I feel great, actually. It’s like I’ve had one eye closed all my life, and now I’ve opened the other five.” The drifting matrix of phantom machinery drifted around Lindon’s head. “You’ve got quite a complicated soul, don’t you? Two cores, I feel like that’s an unusual number. And I can see your face so much more clearly now! It’s…well, at least you have a wonderful spirit. Yes, indeed. That spirit of yours, wow.”

“I am the Eye of the Deep now,” Dross said confidently. “No problem at all. And this Monarch was of the opinion that the best security was his presence. I can open his door, don’t you worry, but getting there is the trick.” Lindon’s tension eased slightly. “And how about out of this room?” “Even easier.” He bobbed over to the keyhole and flashed brightly. “Here it is! I’m astonished you didn’t notice this before, actually.” “I'm afraid there may be someone out there waiting for me. I admit, I was hoping for another exit.”

“Can you help me figure out how she fights?” “I don't know everything, do I? What do I look like, a...know-everything construct? That's a terrible name, I'm sorry, I'll try again. What do I look like, an omni-codex?” He brightened. “That sounds pretty good, actually. Omni-codex. Call me that from now on.”