“It did, master.”
“But he wasn’t really my ancestor,” Siris said, frowning. “He couldn’t have been. If this is all true . . . I have no ancestors. At least, not any that would still be alive.”
“I . . .”
“Speak,” Siris commanded, finding that a voice of authority came to him easily, but unexpectedly.
“He was your son, master,” TEL said, cringing. “Sometimes, you did not fight the God King. Sometimes, some generations, I could not change enough memories to make you the Sacrifice. Other times, you refused to come. That man . . . he was a child of yours, during a generation when you married, grew old, and had children. That one was chosen as the Sacrifice in your stead. He joined the God King instead of fighting him.”
Siris blinked in surprise. Hell take me . . . I was married? Had children? How many times? He didn’t remember any of it, not specifics, but he suddenly felt empty.
“Dying and being reborn in one of these vats, rather than as a child,” he said. “It returns my memories?”
“Brings the terrible memories!” TEL said. “Oh, it shouldn’t have happened like this. They must be wiped away, master. If we wipe away your memories each time, have you born as a child, it will keep them away. But now . . .”
“It will grow worse?” he said grimly.
“Much worse,” TEL said softly. “Each rebirth will make it worse. You will become him again, master. HIM.”
So there was a cost. A terrible one. If the Dark Thoughts, the shadow upon his mind, were who he had been, and if dying would return him to that . . . Well, that seemed worse than dying and not reawakening.
“I’ll be certain not to die again, then,” he said. He hesitated. “But if I do, TEL, you are to bring me here. To be reborn, with my memories.”
“Master,” TEL whispered. “Better to become a child again. Much, much better.”
It was tempting. He could banish all of this. Would that not be freedom? But if that was the case . . .
“Why the Sacrifice, TEL?” he asked.
“There wasn’t one, at first, master,” TEL said. “You’ve always hated Raidriar, and I think you responded to his search for someone to use in activating the Infinity Blade. You went to fight him in one of your generations, and he took note of you, thought you were a child of one of the other Deathless.
“He created the Sacrifice, the entire tradition. And you . . . you often wanted to go fight him, and when I didn’t make you the Sacrifice, you’d declare yourself to be the one who had to fight him. It seemed best to just start making you, and others around you, think you were the son of the former Sacrifice. People had started to remark on the similarity in your features, you see . . .”
So most of those champions who had fought the God King, they had been Siris. Each time, him again, in a different life. He could just vaguely remember. Coming to the God King’s palace, falling while fighting him. Time and time again. He shivered at those fragments of memories.
The God King didn’t know, Siris thought. He had located what he thought was the bloodline of a Deathless. He must have discovered the truth only recently.
So many lives. So many failures.
But I could run, Siris thought, standing in that quiet steel cavern. His womb. I could be free. I have enough of my old memory to be aware, but not so much that I’m corrupted. It was perfect. A chance to live a life free from obligations.
And if he did that, he left the God King with incredible power. A weapon, finally active, that could kill other Deathless. Siris left his people, his mother, in bondage.
He stood for a long time, eyes closed, breathing in and out. Hand on the hilt of his sword.
Finish what you began. . . .
He was in a perfect position to run, but he was also in a perfect position to fight. A man who had the powers of the Deathless, but the mind, passions, and honor of a common man. For the time being, at least.
Honor. Did he really have honor?
All through his childhood, his life had been set out for him. He now realized that these last few weeks had been the first chances he’d had to choose for himself. What would he do with that choice?
He opened his eyes.
“TEL,” he said. “If I die, you will bring me back here to be reborn. With my memories.” He shoved the Dark Thoughts away. “Will you do it, TEL?”
The golem whimpered.
“TEL, I command it of you.”
“I will obey,” the golem whispered. Apparently he would hold to some of his former commands, but there was leeway with others.
“We are going to locate the Worker of Secrets,” Siris said, striding forward, TEL falling into place beside him. “I will free him. And then we will find a way to fight back.”
Not because it was meant to be. But because he chose to. For now, the list he’d written in his logbook would wait. The truth was, he’d probably already done everything on the list a hundred times over, even if he didn’t remember.
Saving the world, though . . . that was something he was certain he’d never done.
Acknowledgments
This project, obviously, would not even exist without the folks at ChAIR Entertainment. Infinity Blade is their story, and I've merely climbed on for the ride. Most notably, Donald and Geremy Mustard were the ones who envisioned the first game and gave me the seeds of the story that became this book. They have had a lot of input into how it has turned out, and are downright wonderful chaps.
No less useful is Laura Mustard, Donald's wife, for her excellent publicity and marketing help. My assistant, the infused Peter Ahlstrom, was at his best on this book—working long hours not just wearing the hat of a copyeditor, but doing continuity and content editing as well. The layout is all his doing. The cover art by Adam Ford and Donald Mustard is brilliant, and among the best covers to grace a project of mine.
Finally, many thanks to the people at ChAIR. Simon Hurley, who is a pretty mean editor himself, Bert Lewis, Brandon Campos, Jim Brown, John Farnsworth, Josh Andersen, Michael Low, Nathan Trewartha, Orlando Barrowes, Scott Bowen, Scott Stoddard, and everyone at Epic Games.
As always, thanks for reading.
Brandon
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