Light Bringer (Red Rising Saga #6)

by Pierce Brown

The path is made of many stones that look all the same. When you trod upon evil, do not rest or look down because goodness is only a step away. The next may bring ruin, the next joy, but these stones are not your destination, they are but your journey to the path’s end.

I almost cave. But I know by now that voice of reason is the enemy. Inside me there is a coward who fears discomfort. That coward will offer solace in the form of excuses. But it is the coward who grooms a man for his defeats. The coward who makes him accept them because he is accustomed to finding a good reason to quit. The coward inside can only be killed one way. I toss down my pack and don my training kit.

When I’ve finished, I sit on my bed feeling empty and satisfied. The book said something about emptiness being what we use. Boxes, cups. They are useless to us when full, because we use their emptiness by filling them.

You’re acting like you share a secret language all of a sudden.” “Isn’t that always the case with those who’ve read the same books?”

“In life, it is very tempting to forget the past to try and make a perfect future. But the past, and the pain we have endured … they make us who we are. Without my past, my pain, I would not be what I am. I forgot that. I remember it now very clearly, thanks to you.”

“Mother, your inheritance was guilt. Father’s was surrender. Because of you, because of Father, mine is struggle. That is better than guilt. It is better than surrender. I do not blame you. I thank you. You never pretended the world wasn’t broken, even when a broken world favored you.” He takes my hands. “I think … if love is anything, it is truth. If life is anything, it is struggle. You taught me that. Father taught me my life is not my own, not unless we win. So, do not come back here. Do not think of me. Fix your gaze on our enemies. Fix your heart on the struggle. And win.”

I remember all those things, and all the things about them. Where the sun lay in the sky, how his father’s eyes sparkled, what I feared in those moments, what I hoped for his life to be. That season of life is a haze to him, but when I die and reflect on my life, I know I will still believe that season was the meaning of mine.

Then there was the other man. The dark one. Not in features, but dark in his energy. There was a man who needed no witnesses to burn. His energy was igneous and parthenogenetic, fire reproduced of itself. At first glance, I knew he was a powerful being with no manners, no airs, no grace, only a direction—one that ran straight through me. It wasn’t love that he awoke in me. It was fear. But that is a part of love. It took time for me to see the sensitive being hidden behind his iron walls. It takes no time today. I don’t even see what his trials have done to him. Those are details. I see his energy. It is not as dark as I remember. His eyes are soft, yearning, and do all but reach out across the void and embrace me.

But the change I sense runs deeper than the physical. His restless anxiety is not gone, but it is muffled by a solemn maturity. Nothing grants wisdom like loss.

“Worry is a spiral with death at its center, Cassius,” I reply.

I am not as confident as I pretend to be, but how can you lead if you cannot walk—and how can you walk if you fear every step?

Forgetting is essential to learning, just as exhaling is essential to breathing. Breathe out, then in. Find the self, then lose it once again. Thus, the path goes ever onward.

“So what you’re saying is, without your friends, you’d be slagged and the Rising would be ashes?” I scoff. “Welcome to the club, asshole. Where do you think I’d be without you? Without our friends? Dead in a ravine, that’s where. We hold each other up. We always have. That’s not weakness. That’s the only strength we’ve got. More than anyone, you’ve been there for me. You’ve been my engine for half a life. My turn.” I set both hands on his shoulders. “Look at me, Sevro.” His eyes peer out at me from a pit of sadness. “I know there is nothing I can say that will make this right. I know that the worlds have been cruel to you. That they’ve ripped your guts out one too many times. This will hurt forever. I cannot imagine losing Pax. I am your best friend. I would die for you, Victra, any of your kids. So trust me when I say this: we are not here for ourselves. So if you cannot pull yourself out of your pain, if you cannot contribute the way you know you can, then there is the airlock: please see yourself out.”

The Goblin is a holy terror, yes. He’s a useful tool, he makes the enemy scared and our people brave.” Sevro squints at me, surprised at my sudden agreement. “But Sevro Barca?” I ask. “Hades. He’s the stage on which the Goblin sometimes comes out for a guest appearance. He’s the man who made the Howlers. He’s the one who keeps the Reaper in check. Keeps everyone in check. He was Ragnar’s brother. Sevro’s a leader, a father, a friend. He’s the one Athena sent this message to. Not the Goblin. Not me. We need Sevro to realize how tall he stands. Because if the Golds can beat him into believing he is small, wretched, what hope do the rest of us have?” Sevro says nothing. He stares through me, his hollow eyes drilling holes into the bulkhead behind me. “Last thing I’ll tell you is this, old friend: neither Sevro, nor the Goblin, is of any use fighting his allies, or working against his friends. You done with the Howlers? All right. My offer still stands: I’ll do everything in my power to get you home to your family. Steal you a ship on Io and cover your escape.” “What about the airlock?” “We know you’re not that man.” I squeeze his shoulder, hard. “But if you’re going to run with this pack, stop chewing our legs like we’re all stuck in a trap. This mission matters because it’s the one we are on. Think on it. When we get to Io, I’m going to scout. Whether I do that alone or with Sevro isn’t my call.”

In the cold prison of our minds, we are alone with our self-hatred, our doubts, and guilt. No one more than Sevro. A friend may reach through the bars and hold our hand, but they cannot open the door for us. Only the prisoner has the key. All I can do is remind him we’re waiting for him when he gets out.

For a friend with an understanding heart is worth no less than a brother. —HOMER

I face Aurae. “It’s been a journey,” I mumble. “I wanted to say thank you. For bringing us here. For giving me The Path to the Vale. I was spiraling. People have saved my life before, but I think you saved my soul.” “And you saved Cassius’s,” she says. “It wasn’t me that did it. I liked him very much. In another life, I might have loved him. But he didn’t need a woman’s love. He needed a brother’s. The way he talked about you. Well …” Her eyes swim with tears. “Lysander was an obligation. You were an aspiration. He was so afraid on our journey to the Core. So nervous to see you and be rejected. But when he saw you respected him, valued him, he shined like a star. His path led back to you, because you made him feel loved. That is all that matters, Darrow. When he died, he knew he was loved. So when you think of him, when you feel sad, remember that.” She kisses me on the cheek. “If we do not meet again, I will see you in the Vale with Cassius. You know the path.”

“Yut. Bloodydamn Bellona. The Man Who Killed Fear. Gods we’re gonna hear that song in all the bars when we’re fat and old. Shit. Is that …” He walks to the far wall and holds up a helmet. “Da’s main helm.” He shoves it on his head. “Fits like a glove. Man. Still stinks like Fitch too.” He turns to me. “I just realized it could be booby-trapped.” “I had them check the helmet, Sevro.” “Good. Whew. Ugh, the thought of Lune snooping in my room. Disgusting.” He goes quiet and takes the helmet off. He looks down at it, one of his only mementos of his father, then puts it with Cassius between his feet. He touches Cassius’s leg and grows somber. I don’t know if I’ve ever loved Sevro more than I do in the depths of his silence. We stand quiet for a few minutes before he closes the coffin’s lid.