Reaper (Cradle, #10)

by Will Wight

He almost left the world immediately, abandoning what remained of his family to clean up after his failure. But he had not yet finished his work in Cradle. He needed to leave something behind. He looked down in his hand, where a small barrier in the shape of an orb contained a fragment of his power. To the mortal eye, it resembled a black hole contained in a glass bead a little bigger than his thumbnail. This marble carried his parting message to his family. So far, no one had listened to him. But he could try again. One last time.

“The maze beneath us is the birthplace of the Dreadgods,” Elder Whisper went on, “but it is far more ancient even than they. Secrets creep out from time to time, where those with insight can collect them.”

Elder Whisper looked to Yerin. “He waits at the bottom of the labyrinth, deeper than anyone has gone in years uncounted. Your master contended with his will, and it was that which weakened him beyond even the field suppressing his power.” Yerin stiffened, but Whisper had already moved on to Lindon. “He is the first product of the experiments that resulted in the creation of the Dreadgods. In the myths that tell of his existence, he is sometimes called the fifth Dreadgod, and sometimes the first. The Father of Hunger, some call him. The Slumbering Wraith. But I have seen notes from his observers calling him Subject One.”

Elder Whisper continued speaking, but his words faded to the back of Lindon’s awareness. Something invaded his consciousness—a message, but deeper and softer than words. Impossibly distant. He felt regret. Apology. Someone urging him to do his best, and to survive at all costs. If he had to interpret the message in words, he would have bet it said “I’m sorry. Hold on.”

the legends of the ancient Rosegold continent, long forgotten by the current inhabitants of Cradle, there is a mythical location that contains all the secrets of the sacred arts. A buried city of infinite insight. A child’s tale. Anyone who finds the city and walks its streets will gain secret techniques of surpassing power, will never face any bottlenecks when advancing, and will understand secret wisdom of the heavens that will allow them to ascend. There is no historical precedent for this location. It’s purely a myth. But at one point on the Rosegold continent, it was a common topic of discussion. If you sought easy advancement, or tried to refine your Path, it was said that you were “Seeking Arelia.”

While Ozmanthus was not entirely content with his solitude, he knew it was only temporary. He couldn’t be the greatest genius in the world. Somewhere, he would find someone who would keep up with him. Until then, he would slow down. He gave up his spear for a broom, but he didn’t mind that. He liked being the only sacred artist in the world to fight with a broom. It had style.

To better understand his creations, he sought knowledge of death. He even created a device that would kill and revive him. He did not realize what a catalyst that would be. As the creator of the world’s deadliest weapons, when he killed and revived himself, he instantly manifested the Death Icon. Not what he had sought to achieve. Ozmanthus found it now even easier to create deadly weapons. Too easy. He could create reality-warping weapons on the level of the Abidan before even ascending from the Iteration. And with his every accomplishment, he grew more alone. No one could match his accomplishments, no one could face him in battle, and no one could understand his insights into the world beyond.

“Anyone who fights a Dreadgod by my side is on my team,” Lindon said quietly. Ziel didn’t have much to say to that. “You can call us what you want,” Lindon went on. “But whether or not you consider yourself my ally, I am yours. You have only to call on me.” That was hardly fair. It turned out that Ziel had more than just a drop of pity left, because now some guilt was seeping out of his long-dry heart. Lindon stood to leave, but before Ziel could say anything, Lindon spoke again. “I know you have far more experience than I do, so I apologize if I’m overstepping my bounds. But I think you’ve seen what you can do on your own. We’re going farther. And I want you to join us.”

Eithan and Yerin began cycling their madra. Lindon’s gut tightened. “Wait a minute. This is going to look like we’re trying to outdo him. Or scare him off.” He was also concerned that a display of their overwhelming madra might come across as an attack. “Don’t worry, I know Naru Huan well. He will appreciate this.” Something in Eithan’s tone made Lindon look closer at his face. “Will he really?” “The word ‘appreciate’ can have so many definitions, don’t you think?”

“Let all our Empire show respect to the Sage of Twin Stars, Wei Shi Lindon Arelius.” A final wave of sound came out from the fleet, no softer than the last, but Jaran barely heard it. The show had kicked him in a place no one’s words had reached. It was one thing hearing about how powerful Lindon had become, and reluctantly accepting that someone had made Lindon powerful. But seeing here, with his own eyes, a display that would have shaken all of Sacred Valley…and to have it directed to his son… Seisha looked at the expression on his face and sighed. “I did tell you,” she said.

Eithan raised a hand. “May I point out that I trained these two?” Naru Huan breathed in for a solid five seconds, and then exhaled even more slowly. He strolled over to Eithan and put a hand on the Archlord’s shoulder. “I know, Eithan. I do know. You have done more for the Empire than anyone since my mother, but you make it so hard to be grateful. If only you weren’t so…infuriating. All the time.” “All the time is a little harsh.” A little more humanity cracked Eithan’s smile. “I will allow, though, that I can be a unique experience.” “Let him kick you,” Yerin suggested. Everyone looked to her—Naru Huan’s face had grown substantially brighter—but she didn’t back down. “You want to show you’re sorry? Let him kick you.” Eithan’s eyes narrowed suspiciously. “I’m a little disturbed at how quickly you came to that suggestion.” “I dream about it every night.” Naru Huan controlled himself, but Lindon could see that he was holding back excitement. “I would like that very much.” “Well, if I’m not going to defend myself, I would prefer if you took it easy—” He didn’t. The Emperor’s kick contained all the madra, aura, and soulfire of an experienced Overlord. The sudden detonation of air would have leveled Lindon’s house if not for the scripts and his own protection. As it was, air surged out from Windfall for miles, even buffeting some landing cloudships. Lindon watched as Eithan flew as a rapidly vanishing speck to the west. “I think he might make it all the way to Sacred Valley.” N...

Orthos snorted smoke. “I told the Golds everything was fine. We’re going into the labyrinth, aren’t we? Well, now I can fit anywhere. You’re the one who might get stuck.” He lifted his chin proudly, as though being less than a foot long was his life’s greatest accomplishment.

Lindon walked back to Windfall, feeling very peculiar. He was also certain that, if Dross were around, he would have joined the other two. If Lindon wasn’t careful, he was going to end up with some sort of reputation as a Sage who kept tiny pets. Unless, he thought, he had such a reputation already.

She would gradually adapt, but it left Lindon surprised. He had intended to forcibly advance his entire family to the peak of Truegold immediately, and had expected Kelsa to break through to the Lord realm without much trouble. He wondered aloud if maybe not everyone could advance as quickly as he did, even given the chance. Yerin had stared at him for five straight minutes when she heard him say that, while Eithan laughed himself sick and then stored the memory in a dream tablet to share with others. Lindon still didn’t see why it was funny.

The very next day, a Copper child sent to fetch water said that Greatfather’s Tears were lower than they should be. No one listened to her. Three weeks later, when they discovered that the Dragon River was starting to dry up, they blamed the change on the Dreadgod’s attack. The Valley had been reshaped by that monster, and besides, at least they were better off than the Golden Sword school. Their mountain was still intact. So they continued their lives as the power in their water faded, day by day.

“I’m glad you found what you were looking for,” Cassias said. Eithan seemed to know what he meant, because he nodded. “Everything’s finally—” With a slap to his own mouth, Eithan cut himself off. The slap made such a loud explosion that Cassias shot up, cycling his madra against an attack. Eithan gave a heavy breath of relief. “I almost said ‘Everything’s finally perfect.’ Can you imagine what a mistake that would have been? I can’t afford to tempt fate like that.” Cassias was happy for him, he really was, but he still kicked Eithan off the tower. It felt just as good as the Emperor had promised.

“How can I help you, Archlord?” Lindon asked. “Did you sense anything just now?” Lindon followed Eithan’s gaze. The Arelius was staring through the western wall. Why was Eithan coming to him? Surely if there was anything he could sense, Eithan would already have seen it. And if it were a matter of spiritual perception, Yerin’s could extend the furthest among all of them. So it must be… Lindon aligned himself to the Void Icon. It had become easier this year, though it was still strange. While he touched the Icon, he felt everything around him as vessels that could be drained, material that could be consumed. But he sensed no authority challenging his own. “Nothing,” Lindon said, though he didn’t release the Icon. Eithan tapped his own lip. “I’m not sure I did either…it’s nothing, I’m sure. Almost sure.”

Yerin’s ruby eyes snapped open. “Not a sniff or a hair. I’d be red-hot if I thought you were just poking at us, Eithan, but I don’t think you are. You’ve got me shaking.” Lindon had a similar feeling. The longer this went without passing as one of Eithan’s jokes, the more disturbed he became. Eithan scratched furiously at the side of his head, disturbing his short hair. “It’s something, but…if only I could…maybe if I fly…” He mumbled to himself as he left, leaving Lindon and Yerin staring at the door in shock.

“Fate, or destiny, or the will of the heavens…it’s a real force. Dream artists contact it once in a while, and some Monarchs are more attuned to it than others. As an Archlord with no dream abilities, I should have no ability to see it. So that’s a distant third possibility.” Lindon didn’t think it sounded distant. If he were to bet based on this conversation, he would put his chips on fate. But that would be a bet he’d be happy to lose. “Pardon, but I hope the problem is with you,” Lindon said. “I would be delighted.”

Reigan Shen flooded his madra through his flight construct, shattering it almost immediately. Three of the four Cores had been returned to their proper places. Once he placed the Silent Core in the chamber, all of Sacred Valley would change. No, the world would change.

[Information requested: history of the western labyrinth,] Dross intoned. But nothing happened. Usually, when Dross spoke like that, Lindon’s mind was taken over by a vision. [Error: synchronization denied. No access available.] Dross shook himself. [I apologize. That was very strange. I will rely solely on my own memory.] That statement piqued Lindon’s curiosity. “Were you not always relying on your own memory?” [I…do not believe so. My apologies. My memories are more fragmented than I realized.]

Auctarius,

Orthos glanced down at Eithan’s arm. “You were eager to dive into this madness. What kind of plan do you have?” “Plan? My plan is the same as it has always been. I planned to build up a team of those who can walk into situations like this, together, and solve the problems that no one else could.” Eithan took a deep breath as they crossed the threshold into the musty air of the labyrinth, then released Lindon. “As long as we all survive this, no matter the outcome, I will consider this a successful team-building exercise.”

“They’re protected,” Eithan said. “Which is fascinating, since anything from the Arelius founder should predate the introduction of hunger madra to this labyrinth. Did he anticipate this, or was he protecting against other threats? A puzzle for you!” “Pardon, but surely your guess would be better than mine.” Eithan was quiet for a moment as they both dodged a spray of venomous darts. “Making my own guess would be less than productive. Why don’t you see if you can guess the thoughts of a genius Soulsmith? Might be good for you.” That didn’t make much sense to Lindon, but if Eithan wasn’t willing to speculate, Lindon wasn’t going to make him.

Lindon was overwhelmed. He blinked back tears. “It’s too much,” Lindon said, though he would already fight a Dreadgod with half a paintbrush over the Soulforge. “You’ve given me so much already.” Eithan cocked his head as though he didn’t understand. “I consider the things I’ve given you to be the best investments I’ve ever made.” Lindon straightened up and pressed his fists together, bowing over them in a sincere salute. “Gratitude, master.” “You know, you never call me that.” Eithan ushered Lindon out of the Soulforge, though Lindon kept shooting longing glances backwards. “It’s probably for the best. I don’t want status to go to my head.” “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.”

Ozriel promised change. He wanted to revive the Executor program, but this time, they would be an official division of the Abidan beneath him. They would be unbound to the Eledari Pact, able to intervene in worlds, and personally selected and supervised by him. They would save worlds by eliminating apocalypses at the root. He would call them Reapers.

A moment before, this world had trembled under the power of the Mad King. A soldier arrived with his purple-veined sword, and Fate returned to its proper course. Makiel, the Hound. A guardian appeared, steadied behind his shield, and the surviving mortal population shook with relief as they sensed they were protected. Gadrael, the Titan. A gentleman stepped out, cane tapping at every step, and the shroud of chaos retreated, restoring the definition of order. Telariel, the Spider. A woman drifted in, gray dress and black hair blowing like smoke, and perhaps she had always been there. Something shifted in the inner machinery of the world, but none in Iteration One-one-nine knew exactly what. Durandiel, the Ghost. A warrior strode forward, ready for combat with sword blazing as bright as her hair, and all existence shone more brightly. Razael, the Wolf. A healer descended on light like blue wings, and all over this reality, wounds knitted back together and fortress walls reassembled themselves. Suriel, the Phoenix. A predator slunk behind the other six, and she tossed the still-bleeding head of a Silverlord behind her as Void portals closed and space stilled all throughout Fathom. Zakariel, the Fox. For the first time in centuries, the Court of Seven manifested together, and the world was healed.

A smile tugged at one side of Reigan Shen’s mouth. “You’ve worked so hard to stand before me. I’m almost proud.” “That’s not what I was working for,” Eithan said. “But I admit…it is a perk.” Lindon felt something. Eithan had reached beyond himself for that attack. His will was dense, and far-reaching. He had tapped into something bigger than himself. An image began to form at the ceiling, something more real than a working of dream and light. Lindon began to see a shaft of polished wood, projected from beyond reality. Then Eithan gestured, and the image cut off. Reigan Shen’s head jerked back, and he looked truly shocked. “What are you thinking?” Eithan pointed another spear of pure madra. “You are not my goal. You’re just in my way.”

This was a Monarch without months of hunger aura eroding his spirit. A true Monarch’s Remnant. As its gaze landed on Eithan, Lindon saw a golden collar encircling the Remnant’s throat. Runes on the gold blazed with power. “Eithan,” the Remnant said, with a voice like buzzing lightning. “You survived. I am sorry.” Pure grief was not an expression Lindon had expected from Eithan. “Shen…was our grudge really this deep, for you to do this?”

Dross scoffed, but Lindon was caught by the first part of the statement. “What Icon are you waiting for?” “The Joy Icon.” Yerin groaned. “It’s real!” Eithan said defensively. “It’s just not…very common. To be frank with you, I’d take any number of Icons, just not anything Ozmanthus manifested. I don’t want to end up as he did.” “Famous?” Yerin asked. “Powerful?” “Alone.”

“What’s wrong with the Monarchs?” Lindon asked. “They are too much for this world. A great weight. Sages like yourself are only half-ascended, which is within the scope of a world like ours. But when your body and your spirit have both grown too great for this world to contain, you must escape to a place that can contain you.”

I practice the sacred arts so that I won’t be worthless anymore. “I am not content with this world,” Lindon said. I advance. “I want more. I want…everything.” And now he felt the third advancement in him. He almost said the words: I will never stop. But the Archlord revelation was all about his future, and this one wasn’t to his liking. So he changed it. “We,” Lindon said, “will never stop.”

The Titan finally burst through a metal container almost as big as its own rib cage. Inside, there was a structure of interlocking metal swirling with sand that glowed gold. A relic of ancient times; the Titan could smell the ancient aura in every grain of sand. The device gave off the impression of distant lands, and the will of its creators was ingrained deep. It was meant to birth a city, or maybe revive one, and then carry it to distant worlds through the void.

The corruption of chaos would devour certain worlds while he was gone, so he set up shelters in the most vulnerable to preserve as much as he could. He would leave the Abidan, temporarily sealing off his powers, and raise up a team of ascendants loyal to him. Then, when he was taken back by the Court, his team could save worlds.

This Origin Shroud would change everything. With that bound to him, he could hide under the noses of the other Judges themselves. He would need to repair it, so it was a good thing he was the greatest craftsman Cradle had ever produced. But now, his criteria for a hiding place had changed. He had presumed that he would be discovered in only a few years, but if not…if he could go without discovery indefinitely… Then this was a chance to start over. To make a new home.

That left only one remaining aspect of the labyrinth. The oldest and most powerful layer, one that he had only briefly sensed in his journey here. The original creators of the labyrinth. There were seven of them. He could scarcely comprehend their power, but they felt like seven pillars of order and structure, intrinsic and real on a level that he associated with sensing an Icon. When these demanded to know who he was, he had no answer. Who was he, compared to them? Compared to people who represented basic aspects of reality? Their authority threatened to crush him, and they brought back every scratch and bruise on his body. His consciousness fuzzed. To steel himself, he grabbed Suriel’s marble. And the labyrinth quieted. In shock, he opened his eyes and brought the marble up to look at it. Only then did he notice that one of the seven founders of the labyrinth felt similar—though subtly different—to the marble. Like pure, unending restoration. Healing that could stitch together the universe. That presence felt him, felt his connection to this marble, and approved of him. Just like that. And that simply, the labyrinth was his.

labyrinth, many years ago. He had failed. His second reaction was anger. “Who is that?” he asked Malice. “A child,” Malice responded. Lindon. Northstrider knew who it had to be, and the tide of his fury rose. “He dares to cooperate with Shen…” “Cooperate?” Malice giggled to herself. “You think Shen planned for this?” Northstrider glanced at his oracle codex, who flashed as it responded to him. [Only a minor chance that this was a plan of Reigan Shen’s. Most likely he intended to take the throne of the labyrinth himself.] As he processed that, Northstrider felt his lips crack into a smile.

She should have left Fury with a better good-bye. Their last conversation had been a fight. He had wanted her to leave—wanted all the Monarchs to leave. She’d refused, as she always had. And always would.

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. The others were looking over to them, and Eithan swept towards them. Uncharacteristically, he didn’t wipe his face or brush his clothes clean. “I had hoped we would have many more years together,” Eithan said, in something approaching his usual tones. “I wanted to see the sights beyond this world with you. All of you.”

Eithan looked into the sky as he held out the black marble. “Remove restraints and release authority. Authorization zero-zero-eight…Ozriel.”

“How?” Daruman demanded. “How are you here? You couldn’t have known!” Eithan hadn’t known. “I always know,” Eithan said. Armor flowed through the Way, black liquid slithering around him and covering him, seamless and smooth. The Mad King saw him protecting himself and struck. With his scythe. The Iteration split in half as he cut at the fabric of existence, but Eithan held out a hand. The slice in reality stopped exactly at the edge of his palm. Eithan laughed. “A poor choice of weapon.” Who could have more authority over Ozriel’s Scythe than Ozriel?

Yerin’s left eye twitched. “Did you really…you…bleed and bury me, you let me think we were finally going to catch up to you.” Eithan tried not to smile. It was a serious moment. “It’s not too late,” Eithan said.

Durandiel.

“Zakariel,

Zerachiel!”

“Did he tell you what role he played in the cosmos?” Lindon exchanged looks with Yerin as they remembered the vision in Eithan’s marble, and Yerin was the one who answered. “Seems to me like he put down worlds that were too sick to go on. Uh, honored…queen?” “That is an accurate summary of his function, but it is not one he would have chosen. He left us, abandoning his mission, in an attempt to raise up people who could replace him. To cut away infected tissue before the infection spreads.” Suriel eyed the group before her, and deliberately said, “He was looking to raise up a new Reaper.”