Reaper (Cradle, #10)

by Will Wight

Lindon rolled Suriel’s marble in his fingers again. Somehow, the message had felt like the feelings that radiated from the blue flame. And the comfort that usually came off the transparent orb seemed somehow weaker than usual. Another sign of his own anxiety, surely. Unless… There came a thunk as the door on the first floor swung open, interrupting Lindon’s thoughts. A voice echoed up from below. “Oh no, I missed something!” Eithan cried. “Quickly, repeat your entire conversation before you forget a word!”

That led to another troubling trend for Ozmanthus. The sacred arts in Cradle tend to focus on combat applications because of the never-ending competition for resources, but soon, there was no one under the Lord realm who could compete against him.

He named his House after the city he had always sought. The Arelius family should always seek greater insight.

Lindon shouted Northstrider’s name into the sky. He begged, he pleaded, he bargained, and he even threatened. Politely. The Monarch never responded.

“I’m not sure I can pay back an investment like this.” “Oh, you can start paying me back once we’re out of Cradle. My investments are long-term.”

He moved to another dream tablet as Yerin was pulled away from it. She had a troubled look on her face. “This is your ancestor, Eithan?” Eithan ran a hand over his head as though wishing for longer hair. “The first of my House, yes.” “I’d pick you over him six times out of five.” Eithan blinked. “That may have been the kindest thing anyone has ever said to me.” “Don’t let it swell your head,” she muttered. “This inspires me to compose a poem!” “Can I pay you to stop?” “There once was a man from Iceflower…” Lindon reached out for the dream tablet and let the memory overcome him before he had to listen to Eithan’s poem.

With great effort, Lindon poured madra into his broken right arm. The hunger madra creaked, and bits of it snapped off, and spiritual pain ran through his channels. But he clenched his fist. “If we can’t use our power for this, why have it?” He looked from Eithan to Yerin, and he could feel a fire in his eyes even with no Blackflame. “I don’t want to win by giving something up. I want it all. I want all of it.” The fury of the Void Icon faded, and he coughed a little in embarrassment. “…if you’re willing, of course.” Yerin leaned into him, and her hand snaked up his chest and over one shoulder. “Ought to be grateful you don’t talk like that more often,” she murmured. Eithan was blinking back tears, which caught Lindon off-guard. “What…” Eithan cleared his throat. “What should we do, Lindon?” “I’ve been sensing something in the labyrinth,” Lindon said. “It feels like echoes of other sacred artists, and I suspect it’s a phenomenon of hunger aura.” A look passed over Eithan’s eyes that Lindon couldn’t identify, but the Archlord nodded. “I know what you mean.” “Can you lead us there?” “If our captor cooperates.” Eithan powerlessly kicked the wall.

He gritted his teeth and stopped himself from leaving. If he ejected himself from the labyrinth right into Shen’s control, he would have accomplished nothing. [We are perched on the precipice of greatness,] Dross whispered. [Plunge over the edge, and see what you may become.]

Lindon sat down next to Orthos. The turtle was headbutting him over and over, but each one was weaker. “Run,” Orthos mumbled. “We have to…” “There’s nowhere to run,” Lindon said. He looked up to the sky and watched points of light wink out, one at a time. Orthos lifted his head, and Lindon could see the despair in his eyes when he saw for himself. A moment later, a bar of Blackflame shot up into the sky. “You never know,” Orthos rumbled. “Maybe this enemy can be burned.” Yerin looked at him for a moment before snorting a laugh. She wiped her tears and sat down on Lindon’s left side. “Always thought I’d go down fighting.” Lindon took her hand. “I never thought it would end here.” But it was the end. When he saw the stars vanish, he knew the truth without doubt. An ant had a better chance of resisting a boot. He had to admit, he was somewhat bitter about that. He had set his sights far beyond this world, thinking it was too small for him. He’d fulfilled everything Suriel had promised him, so that even she had descended and met him again. Now, after all that, he was going to die here after all.

Ziel was weakly kicking a mound of dirt, over and over. He wasn’t using nearly the strength he was capable of, but from the expression on his face, he was still taking out some long-held anger. “Now?” Ziel demanded. “It had to be now? I pull myself back together, and the world ends!” Yerin jerked her head. “Come on, drop yourself down with us.” “Why? Is that the hill that will survive the end of all things?” “You rather die alone?” Ziel grumbled, but he trudged over and plopped down, still seething with visible frustration.

“Eithan?” For some reason, even in the face of the imminent apocalypse, Eithan’s absence alarmed him. He untangled himself from Yerin, Blue, and Orthos, and he drifted a short distance away to where he’d last sensed the Archlord. Eithan was still there, on his hands and knees, heedless of the dirt on his clothes. His fingers tightened on the soil, and his back shook. It took Lindon a long moment to realize that Eithan was quietly sobbing. Tears plopped to the ground one at a time. Lindon placed a gentle hand on his back, but Eithan didn’t respond. “Thank you, Eithan,” Lindon said quietly. “For everything.” Eithan looked at Lindon in shock. His expression slowly softened, and he rose to his feet. He placed his hands on Lindon’s shoulders and met his eyes. “I’m proud of you, Lindon,” Eithan said. That hit Lindon harder than he had imagined.

Eithan snapped his fingers, and Lindon realized that he had never looked up at all. “We don’t have much time left. If this is going to be the end, then remember one thing from me: I loved every second with you all. I really, truly…had so much fun.” Yerin met his gaze for a moment and then threw her arms around his ribs. “If there’s another side, we’ll catch you there,” she said. He smiled fondly and placed a hand on her head. “Yes, I suppose you will.”

But apparently Eithan wasn’t finished. He cleared his throat. “It seems like I’ll be leaving a little sooner than the rest of you. I’ll miss you all when I’m gone. Tell Mercy for me, will you?” The figure in the sky was now the only thing that seemed real. Spatial cracks spiraled across the black sky, as the entire world crumbled just as Ghostwater once had. Well, Lindon thought, at least I’ll see beyond this world after all. Then he realized what Eithan had said. “Eithan…this is it for us,” Lindon said. “We’re all gone.” Eithan brushed off his hands and wiped his face clean with a cloth. He let the cloth fall, and all trace of his tears was gone. He held out his right hand, and revealed that he had been holding something else. A black marble. “No,” Eithan said, “just me.” The marble cracked. Eithan looked into the sky as he held out the black marble. “Remove restraints and release authority. Authorization zero-zero-eight…Ozriel.”

Eithan blinked. “That may have been the kindest thing anyone has ever said to me.” “Don’t let it swell your head,” Yerin muttered. “This inspires me to compose a poem!” “Can I pay you to stop?” “There once was a man from Iceflower—” “Wait a second,” Lindon interrupted. “That reminds me. I found this in Ozmanthus’ workshop.” He held up a small black book. “I thought they might be Soulsmithing secrets, but they seem to just be poems.” Eithan made a choking sound. “Might be it runs in the family,” Yerin said. “You read any?” “I don’t see what good that would do. This one says his pain is ‘a bottomless hole in the night sky of the soul,’ which…I’m no poet, but that can’t be very good.” “May I see that?” Eithan’s voice was strangled. Yerin took the book before Eithan could. “This is mud and rot. Did nobody teach him about meter?” “Did you see the one that says, ‘My Remnant aches with longing to see your face’?” Eithan slapped the book out of Yerin’s hand and set it on fire.

“Ozmanthus Arelius, the original Patriarch of our clan, was known as the greatest Soulsmith of his day,” Eithan explained. “Perhaps in history. Famous for his great power, his wisdom, and his long, flowing hair. I’m no expert, of course, but from what I hear, he sounds like a wonderful fellow. Kind-hearted, keen-eyed, with flawless skin and the most spectacular clothes.” Yerin gave him a strange look. “Alas, his handsomeness was too much for this world!” Eithan cried. “If only we could all have been so fortunate as to bask in the presence of such a statuesque Adonis!” “This is you, isn’t it? You’re talking about yourself.” “What? But how could it be me? It’s true, I can see a certain resemblance in his carved musculature, his perfect bone structure, his fatherly yet mischievous smile—” “Yeah. It’s you.”